The Disjointed Thoughts in the Head
"That deadline comes around and my partner's still underground, I will end you."
The words course through me. They echo in my ears. They're my words. And I can't shake them. I'm directing the anger, placing the blame on this author. This man that I just don't like. But… if this deadline rolls around and Bones is underground taking her last breaths, it's me that will end.
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"Correction. Doctor Brennan and Hodgins have exactly four seconds left. We are out of time."
Zack. This punk brainiac shouldn't have the power to destroy me. One sentence out of his mouth, and a nightmare scenario crashes over me. Bones can't breathe. Right now, my partner – and friend – possibly cannot breathe anymore!
I can't breathe.
Okay – I do know there is someone else down there with her. Someone else possibly taking his last breath too. Hodgins. I can't lie. I am only thinking of her right now.
No. No – we're not giving up! She is the most resourceful… smart… woman I know. She would've found a way. This countdown doesn't count for her. She gets extra time. Because she's Bones.
They need to know that… because I'm powerless. I need these people. All of them. If I have a hope to save her, it's only with their help.
Don't give up, people. Please.
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We're here. We're at this grave site – and I can only pray it's not literal in this one instance.
I've had other partners. Ones with actual FBI backgrounds. Ones I would actually trust more with my safety. I mean, she's a too-literal, trigger-happy, often pretentious woman – Miss "I have a Doctorate" – who can really get under my skin sometimes because she always says whatever is on her mind with no actual screening process for her thoughts…
And there's never been a better partner for me. Or friend. Ever.
It's been so many hours. Too many hours, I fear. I'm so tired. Worry threatens to topple me. My heart is hammering painfully against my chest. I have to try to be professional.
"Look for anything, guys... Signs of digging… mounds… depressions…"
I'm throwing out orders, taking charge. I can't show my emotions. If I'm not simply Seeley Booth, FBI special agent – she doesn't stand a chance.
She has the brains. I have the quick instincts. And they need to be turned on right now. Clear head. No emotion. Just my eagle eye and fast instincts.
Why can't I find any signs of—
Poof.
Like a bullet, I'm gone. Running down a hill toward a small, fixed spot. I have no idea what that was! But right now, it's the only abnormal thing at a completely normal-looking crime scene. It's all I've got.
Run faster. Don't even blink.
My mind flashes to something very random even as I try to focus. We were at a crime scene… she asked for my help and I commented that my suit cost a lot of money and I didn't want to dirty it.
I throw myself now to my knees and just start digging frantically. Heavy sand. Pebbles.
Please don't die.
I can hear more people running to where I sit, digging like a man who's about to lose everything.
Finally, I feel something. I think it's a hand. It is. It's a hand. I frantically begin pulling on it to yank it to freedom. With a sinking feeling, I realize it's a man's hand.
Hodgins.
Something heavy is weighing on me; I feel like my throat's closing. How terrible is it that I partly want to let go of his hand and just keep looking for Bones? As I pull on him, panting with the effort, I see others digging around us.
Find her.
I free Hodgins and lay him down. He's unmoving.
Angela crawls down beside him. "C'mon Jack," she says.
Finally he coughs.
Okay, great. He's fine. Where is she?
At least eight people are digging and no one has found her yet!
"Find Brennan," Hodgins whispers, even as I'm already digging again. I start yelling at everyone around me. Dig deeper. Look harder.
"I think I have her!" an agent calls from a few feet away from me.
Immediately I run over to where his arm is buried in the sand and begin digging.
If I ever come face to face with the sick psycho that buried my partner, I am going to kill him.
And yet, on some level, I know the blame is all mine. The day we became partners, I took responsibility for her in the field. I told Cullen I'd watch her. And yesterday, when she was being hurt and then buried, I was laughing and eating; I was on a date. I was on a date with her boss; I was keeping a secret from my partner. I was having a pretty good time until I heard the words that made my blood run cold. A mangled voice in my voicemail and everything changed.
Blake, the agent who located her, begins pulling on her hands as I quickly remove sand, and try to clear the way to get her out. He has her hands and he's pulling. But not fast enough for me. I grab onto her wrists too and pull as hard as I can. Finally her head comes through the sand, her torso – she's covered in sand. I can barely see the features of her face.
I'm practically yelping in exertion from pulling her out. I hear Blake calling over the paramedics. He's screaming, "she's not breathing!" He's yelling for them to get over here now.
She's in my arms, lying lifeless. I lay her down and look at her face; silently begging her eyes to open.
"C'mon Bones. Bones!"
Her face falls to the side. And I start to pray to God, "please don't let her die…"
"Breathe," I whisper. "Bones, breathe!"
Do you even do CPR on someone who's been buried? She didn't drown. There's no water. Just sand. Everywhere. I actually don't know what to do. "Breathe for me, Bones."
I flash to memories of her face – animated, smiling, healthy – and I think about the times she made me laugh. How she doesn't understand most people's jokes. I think about how she challenges me every day. I think about what a crappy deck she was dealt with her family and how strong she is in spite of it all. I think about how much fun we have together on pretty much every case. I think about how much I trusted her with some of my most painful memories. How she always makes it clear that she respects me, even when she doesn't believe in the same things as me. In Vegas, how she bet on me against all odds… how she called the game "crap"… she always messes up common colloquialisms.
I feel a hand on my shoulders. Cam. She's trying to be comforting and it's anything but. I don't need comforting right now, because this isn't over. Why do people give up so quickly around here? I ignore the hand and look at her. Lying there. Her face is dirty, her eyes are closed; she looks peaceful.
"Brennan, come on!" It's Hodgins. "No. The explosion was her idea to save us. She can't die."
Explosion?
I look down at her as the paramedics begin their work. She tried to save herself because time ran out and I wasn't there. She set off an explosion knowing it could kill her. My heart breaks at that thought. It came to that? Of course it came to that. They were alone. Desperate. Losing air.
Clinging to life. Trying everything. Even setting off explosives – just to get out. Just to—
"Breathe. Bones…"
Someone puts an oxygen mask on her face. Someone comments there's a "weak pulse." I think that's a good thing. There's a pulse. They try to clear the airway.
Cam's hand presses into my shoulder; I watch these men working on my partner; and realization dawns.
I love—
She breathes. Gasps.
And I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding.
She looks at me. Relief courses through me in waves. All I can do is smile.
"Bones – hey, you're alive," I say, attempting to sound light.
"Of course I am; I'm looking at you. You're alive too, Booth," she says, moving the oxygen mask. Someone puts it back. She looks confused and annoyed.
My smile grows.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
She nods, staring at the guy that just forced her to keep the mask on. When he turns away to get something out of the truck, she pulls the mask away and looks at me again. "Are you okay?" she asks. "Because you don't look very good. And your suit's all dirty," she observes in her typical way.
"I don't really care about the suit right now, Bones," I say. "And yes. I'm okay."
Bones is breathing. She's smiling. She's here with me. Again.
I'm really very okay right now.