The Agent in Harm's Way

The moment he'd seen the cold hatred searing from Pam's eyes at Bone's dancing, laughing, singing as if she were a thirteen year old girl again, he knew something was wrong. He didn't want to startle the rest of the karaoke bars patrons when he stood suddenly to subtly reach for his gun, blocking Pam's firing range, and instead, putting himself in harm's way. He always said he'd do anything to protect her, to save her, to keep her alive. He was the one with the gun. She was his job; protect her at all and any cost. Even if it meant sacrificing himself—because somewhere in the three years they'd been partnered, she had become so much more than a cold and distant heartless scientist. She'd become understanding, caring, loving. Whether she knew it or not or even wanted too.

He felt the world start to slant, stumbling backwards until his foot hit the stage and nothing stopped the fall. Nothing but the delicate, frantic hands of the woman he had just saved. Come on, Booth. Come on, Booth. Her mantra became like a pulse in his mind, come on Booth, stay alive. He'd seen her pick up the gun he'd dropped, her arm twisted and she shot at someone without care, and turned back to her fallen friend. She put all her force into pressing on the bleeding wound. She still yelled. No, not yelling. Pleading. The best he could do was limply grasp her left hand with his right, and she gripped it until their knuckles were white and her fingers red with his blood.

Angela stood frozen, hands over her mouth while Hodgins bit out orders. Zach rapidly explained the situation to the 911 operator, and Cam took in the scene before her, head bobbing from Pam to Brennan and Booth. She wanted to think it was all going to be okay; wanted to sympathize with Brennan. She'd come to like the somewhat clueless anthropologist; something she never thought would happen. Somewhere she'd been accepted by the entire tight knit group.

It was ten minutes of grueling silence, save Brennan's attempts at keeping Booth awake, before the ambulance arrived and the paramedics burst through, clearing people out of the bar.

Cullen, to all of their surprises, followed closely behind. He surveyed the scene, his heart dropping with the sight before him. The fallen agent still grasped his anthropologist's hand, even as they lifted him to the gurney. One of the paramedics was trying to separate them, and with a kind of silent pride, he watched her shove the man off with a force he'd yet to see the woman express. Another medic tried to pry her off with words, but to no avail. Her eyes flashed dangerously at all who attempted to remove him from her sight.

"Excuse me!" he called, asserting himself into the equation before someone—namely a paramedic—found themselves on a gurney as well. "I'm the director of the FBI, that's my agent, what the hell is going on here!" he nodded at Booth.

Cam, finally recovering, made her way to Cullen. "Sir, one of the suspects from our last case became obsessed with Booth and found that shooting Dr. Brennan would be in their best interest. Booth…stood in Brennan's way." She finished softly, eyes never leaving the floor. Cullen nodded numbly. This was not good.

"Where is…this woman?"

Cam pointed at a black body bag. "Brennan shot her. In the neck."

Not good at all. He was starting to reconsider giving the anthropologist a gun.

"Ma'am, we can't leave until you let him go!" screamed another paramedic.

"No!"

Cullen walked up to the paramedic, standing between him and Dr. Brennan. "She's his partner. If you want to get anywhere fast, let her go with him," he said authoritatively, but his tone was of a deadly calm. The paramedic nodded briskly, clearly not happy with the situation.

Cullen turned his gaze back to Brennan. "Take care of him. We'll need to take your statement later. Just…take care," he said before walking away. One of his best agents was down, and of all people, Booth did not deserve this.

Brennan stood slightly stunned by Cullen's approach. She knew from Booth's assumptions that Cullen didn't like her, but he'd become far more pleasant since her team had found what was killing his daughter awhile back. He was a good man. She'd have to thank him later.

The ride to the hospital was terrifying. Booth had crashed twice en route. Two times her own heart had stopped and broke. Two times she reflected on everything that had gone unsaid. Two times she realized that life without him was not acceptable anymore.

It was his fault she needed him. She'd never needed anybody since the day her family had disappeared and left her behind. Who would pull her out of the lab to eat when she forgot? This, in actuality, hadn't happened in little over a year now…she'd come to expect him to burst in, grab her coat and bag for her, and drive them to Sid's. She expected him to knock on her door with Thai food at 2 a.m. when she was feeling particularly down on herself. She went to Parker's T-Ball games on Saturday mornings to cheer on his adorable little boy; they'd get hot dogs, even after she explained the horrible contents with which they were made, and finish with cotton candy or ice cream. She wanted the possessive feel of his strong hand guiding her by the small of her back—a gesture she relished. He always paid the tab. He always drove. They always argued over everything; religion, psychology, society, children, marriage—but they never lost either. They always won in their own way. He pushed her buttons and her limits. He pushed her out of her lonely little shell into a world of wonders and lies and good and evil and love and justice and peace. He didn't want to possess her like others did, but simply be with her. He stayed in good times and bad; saw her at her best and her worst. He'd been blown up for her, stolen her earring from a crime scene so she couldn't be implicated in a murder, gave her brainy smurf and Jasper. He lied on the stand for her. Yes, she had time to commit the murder of Kirby, but they both knew she hadn't done it. She saw the hurt in his eyes when he had to say yes, she had had time. Yes, she could be a murderer. And in a way, she was now. She'd killed someone because they had threatened her loved one. Just as her father had killed Kirby because he'd threatened her and Russ. And what of her family? Without Booth, she would never know what happened to her mother. She'd never have spoken to Russ. She'd never even try to bond with her father, the reason any of this had ever even happened. She couldn't let Booth die for her. He believed in greater things, in higher beings. He deserved someone who wanted everything he did, and it was her that should be lying on the gurney.

It would be her fault if he died. The man that said he would never betray her. The man that said he would never willingly leave her.

Maybe she was getting what she deserved.

It was four in the morning when they first came to tell her he was stable. Hours ago, she'd filled out paperwork: another surprise had come to her—he had made her his power of attorney a year ago, and had conveniently forgotten to tell her. The startled look on her face had tipped off the nurse that she hadn't known. Then again, she'd made him hers without his knowledge.

When she'd blindly finished filling out the forms, she'd gone to the restroom to clean up. Her expression had scared her; mascara ran down her porcelain face, her eyes were red, she was still shaking. The more time passed, the more it sank into her. He could die. And she would be alone. Again.

Her hands gripped the sides of the sink, trying to keep herself up. She threw up everything she'd eaten. The tears came harder then, as she saw that her hands and blouse were soaked through with his blood. She all but ripped off the green silk top she'd worn as she sang at the top of her lungs. She splashed cold water on her face, needing to figure out the logical approach to this. When it came to thinking about Booth though, there was no logic. When her father had abandoned her the second time, Booth had resisted shooting him. She'd wondered what Max had said to him, and now she realized what had been. You, take care of her. Booth had. Her own father had seen something in Booth that day that she still couldn't name. A feeling she didn't know.

Max told her not to let someone she could trust go. She had found someone. That someone was dying in a hospital bed because he'd taken a bullet for her.

It was this that plagued her as she sat in the waiting room, surrounded by Angela and Hodgins, Zach, Cam, Sweets, Rebecca and her boyfriend, and Parker, who'd found it in his six year old heart to seek her out and comfort her. The little boy had fallen asleep though, and Rebecca told her they'd be back first thing in the morning, and to call if anything changed.

Zach, Cam, Sweets, and Hodgins gradually filtered out. Angela remained, getting her coffee that she didn't drink, and offering to stay. Much as she loved her, Brennan needed Angela to leave.

"Go, be with Hodgins. I'll call you later. Please? I just, need to be alone."

"Are you sure sweetie? I mean, really sure you want to be by yourself?" Angela squeezed her hand. The look in Angela's eyes said something else though.

"No. I don't want to." Angela smiled, hugged her friend, and left. Two hours later they told her he was stable.

The doctor came out then, giving the distraught woman permission to see him. "Thank you, thank you," she smiled, not sticking around to hear anything else. No one would remove her from the room once she was inside.

Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she made her way inside the room. She gasped at the wires, and the way he seemed so helpless. Taking a seat in the chair closest to the bed, she was almost too afraid to touch him.

"Why did you have to do that? You could have died you idiot!" she started shakily, angry, now that he was okay. "And for what? For me? You don't deserve this, you have a son and you're a good person, and…God you're an idiot!" she cried, carelessly. "People need you Booth, Parker needs you to be his father, and the people we help everyday need you to save them…and I need you to save me…" she trailed off silently.

"You have to stop putting yourself in front of bullets and bombs and taxis and psychotic clowns…because one of these days you're not going to be so lucky…and who will be there for me?" Temperance sighed, wiping her cheeks. She laughed. But it was sad and nothing like she'd felt before. "Is this punishment?" she called to the ceiling bitterly. "Is this the trade I get? My father back in exchange for Booth? I don't even believe in you, dammit!"

"Just…don't take him yet. Not yet."

Even in his drug-induced state, he knew she was there. He was far too tired to open his eyes, to talk to her, to comfort her. But he heard her. He was angry as well. Thinking that she wasn't worth saving…but that she thought it was her punishment to watch him die in exchange for a second chance with her father was absurd. In her world though, he knew it was logical. Emotional, but logical. She'd been getting trade-offs her entire life. Russ, until he was arrested. Her father for her mother's life. Her father, until the trial, and now that he'd been cleared, her father for Booth. He understood. She was waiting to be let down. Waiting to see who she would lose next.

He'd promised her he wouldn't betray her. Leave her, willingly, lie, abandon her. Never. He loved her.

"Bones."

Her head shot up. Daylight was peeking through the blinds, bringing with it the soft sound of her name coming from his lips.

"Booth? Let me get the nurse," she whispered, but he shook his head slightly.

"Just stay," he rasped. She looked around for a moment before finding a cup of water. She sat on the bed now, holding his neck and helping him drink. She set it down a moment later. The look in her eyes scared him. "I'm sorry."

She laughed hollowly again. "Booth, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking my partner has a beautiful voice. Singing or not." He smiled a small, charm smile.

She didn't smile back at this. "It isn't funny Booth."

The smile faded into a frown. "No, it isn't," he said in all seriousness. "It isn't funny that you think you aren't worth saving. It isn't funny that you think life is full of trade-offs. Temperance, I told you I would do anything to protect you."

"And if you die, then who's going to be there Booth? Dammit…You took a bullet for me Booth! For me!" she cried again. "You have all of these lines and rules and then you go and cross them over and over again…I can't watch you die Booth!" Her tears fell quickly, each stopping for a moment on her chin before dropping onto his face. He gently held her shoulders, pulling her down to his unharmed left side while she cried. She curled into him, so exhausted, emotionally, physically, that she slept.

A nurse came by for rounds, startled to see the man was not alone. He was awake though, whispering things to the woman who'd made quite a name for herself in the hospital rumor mill, that she didn't feel comfortable disturbing him. She'd be back. After all, there were a lot more patients to attend to and this one seemed in good hands.

Seeley was happy the nurse hadn't mentioned anything. He was content to hold Bones while she slept. It had been a long time since he'd felt so compelled to be a human shield, to save someone. He knew Bones would need a little while to come to terms with it. She wasn't angry. She just couldn't place what she felt. That made her angry.

She stirred at the sound of voices. A nurse telling Booth she needed to check on something. And then the woman was gone. "I know you're awake," he whispered gently, then continued. "I didn't mean to scare you. But when I saw her…Temperance, she was going to kill you. What would I be if you died?"

Her eyes were still downcast, staring at the brilliant white bandage that covered the bullet hole. She stiffened with anger at the woman who'd caused this. He ran his hand down her arm when he felt her tense, hoping she'd relax. Instead, she traced the bandage lightly, wanting a distraction. Hours ago, she'd had her fingers over the same spot, covered with red. Her ear pressed against his chest, above his heart, feeling and hearing the lovely rhythm it made. Alive, it sang. I'm alive.

He grasped her hand then, like he had earlier, lying on the stage floor. She tilted her head back, irritated that she'd been rudely distracted. His eyes stopped her from speaking. "I would do it again." Her brow furrowed. "For you, I would do it again."

She seemed to analyze his statement, tasting it in her mind. She looked at their hands, entwined and enmeshed like their lives had become. His heart beat, speeding up beneath the flesh that protected it. Or maybe it was hers that pounded, trying to burst out of the box that held it for fifteen years.

She leaned in slightly, whispering, "I know."

"Are we okay?" he asked just as softly. She shook her head.

"No," she said, brushing her thumb across his jaw, she kissed the spot where it met his ear. "I don't want to be what we were. I want to be what we're supposed to be," said slowly.

He smiled slightly, using her words against her, "I don't know what that means."

"I know." She leaned forward slowly, waiting to see if he'd caught up to her riddles yet. She'd been told she had a disturbingly steep learning curve once before, she was just hoping he did too. When his lips brushed hers, she knew he'd figured it out. She kept the pressure on his lips, and he used his left arm to pull her completely to him, hands still locked. He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers.

"So what are we supposed to be Bones?" he asked playfully. She put her head back against his shoulder, his cheek angled as to press a kiss to her hairline.

She smiled, liking the development. "You and me, Seeley." She laid her hand on his heart again. "Together."