By the time you hear the siren, it's already too late

[scooby_rebel]

Faith wasn't really much for arts and crafts, but she'd found some sewing supplies and 'borrowed' a needle and thread. She'd seen the women do this a thousand times in murder rehab and the time and boredom had finally gotten to her. Well, that and the fact that she needed something new. She didn't do well with paradise

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[thefbiagent]

He leaned against the doorframe, smiling crookedly. "You know, there are probably better ways to do that." Although, he couldn't think of a better way to get inked on the island. The needle seemed to be unused (especially for this use), and the ink was, well, ink. Frankly, the doctors milling around seemed antsy enough to be excited if she got an infection or something. He cocked his head down at her. "What and where?"

[scooby_rebel]

Faith looked up, her whole face solemn as she wound the thread. "Dunno yet," she shrugged. "Something I can draw someplace I can reach, probably."

[thefbiagent]

"Someplace you can reach." He shrugged, sitting at her elbow and watching her work. "You're pretty damn flexible."

[scooby_rebel]

She chuckled softly and her smile was nothing but smug. "You'd know, man."

[thefbiagent]

Booth cocked an eyebrow, returning the cocky smile. "Yeah, I would." He leaned back in his chair, biting his tongue, and failing. "Need a hand?"

[scooby_rebel]

"Got two, thanks. What, you gonna tell me Mr. Fibbie knows how to make some cellblock gear? Get off," she laughed, looking over at him and returning the cocky smile.

[thefbiagent]

Booth slouched in his chair, one leg bent and the other loose. He laced his fingers together behind his head. "I was an Army Ranger before I was a G-Man." He half-shrugged casually. "You get creative in the Gulf."

[scooby_rebel]

"Creative? Do tell," Faith replied dryly, doing her best to sound uninterested, even though her sideways glance said otherwise.

[thefbiagent]

He shrugged. "The usual. Guys get bored, find the stuff they need," He gestured at the table. "and then just go to it." He locked eyes with her, leveling at her across the table. "You know where I'm inked." His eyes sparkled devilishly.

[scooby_rebel]

"Yeah, yeah. You showed me yours, I showed you mine," she scoffed, a small huff of a laugh exploding from her throat. "So, tough guy...d'you do it one stick at a time, or did you puss out and rig a motor?"

[thefbiagent]

"They did it the old school way." He grinned. "Mostly 'cause they were too damn lazy to rig a motor."

[scooby_rebel]

"Booth," she cooed, or got as close to cooing as was possible for her, "My man. Hardcore," she grinned as she finally ceased what she was doing to actually pay attention to him. "How long did it take?"

[thefbiagent]

Booth grinned, enjoying the attention. He squinted, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "God. I don't remember. A long-ass time, depending on what they were doing." He shrugged. "I cleaned my guns and made fun of them, mostly."

[scooby_rebel]

"Yeah, the ones in the penn took forever. Lots of roses and hearts and ribbons with their kids' names. Or their old men. This on chick, she was a lifer, that's about all she did. Just sat there and got inked, a little every day. When I busted out, she'd just gotten this wicked cool dragon finished."

[thefbiagent]

"Woah." He nodded, impressed. "We didn't have quite as much downtime." It got disturbed by things like fighting and hunting and killing. He took a slow in through his nose and out through his mouth, willing himself not to smell it (dirtbloodsweatdeath), willing himself not to get back there again.

[scooby_rebel]

"Nothin' but downtime in murder rehab," Faith laughed. She glanced at how he breathed and damned if she didn't...did she actually give a shit? Huh.

"You okay, man?"