This my 1st posted fanfic--and I have to admit I didn't expect it to be for Bones! But having read everyone's wonderful ones about "Wannabe in the Weeds," and then on the way to work, this song came up on my CD, and it just clicked. The song seemed perfect for Dr. Brennan and became the point I started with. The rest just happened.
I also have to say this is probably the shortest piece of fiction outside of poetry I have ever written in my life!
And of course, I own nothing below
Brennan sat in the hospital room, looking at Booth. Now, he was pale and bandaged, but she could still see the stunned look on his face as he fell.
The room smelled like all hospitals, of disinfectant and sickness. Not a place for Booth--Booth, who could barely handle some of the entirely clinical labwork.
Her mind returned to the Checker Box. How had she not seen Pam Noonan, or heard her call Booth? And then the gunshot. Everyone had heard that.
She had dropped the microphone and jumped off the stage and then seen Pam taking fresh aim--at her.
Pure instinct and adrenaline had thrummed through her--one shot with Booth's gun took care of Pam and then Brennan had had no time for anything other than her partner.
She had bullied her way onto the ambulance, assisted by Cam. Angela was still in shock when the medics arrived, but Jack was attempting to comfort her. Zack and Sweets were nowhere to be seen. Someone at the hospital had made her wash her hands, but nothing could be done at present for her shirt.
Trying to distract herself, she tried to think about cleaning it, but couldn't focus.
Her loud insistence that they were partners, in the FBI, had gotten her in the room. To her surprise, she did have some authority in the matter; when had he listed her as next of kin? She would have expected Rebecca as Parker's mother, or even Cam.
Finally, she sighed, the sound loud in the room, and allowed herself to examine the thoughts her usually well-disciplined mind was presenting to her.
Booth--when had he become so important? Once past that initial first difficult adjustment, they had become friends as well as work partners. Some tried to see more into it, like Angela, who had the heart of an incurable romantic; and some who simply misread them out in the field. No doubt that was a desire for societal conformity--or a need to categorize. As if a man and woman couldn't work together without being involved!
"Put your heart in a box," she had once told Zack. She was starting to realize that perhaps she had taken her own advice too well.
She studied Booth again, mind skittering away from that notion. Very disconcerting, to not have a firm grip on her emotions. And her memory promptly presented her with several other times she had felt this way. And they were almost all connected to Booth.
All right, you wanted to think about this, so think already! she chided herself.
When Booth had fallen and his eyes closed, she had become shockingly aware of how much she needed him. Despite annoying nicknames and alpha-male tendencies, she knew she could trust him as a friend. But more? She wasn't sure. Did he want more?
Obedient this time, her memory handed her scenes where he apparently did. How he had almost swallowed his gum in Vegas. The way he had stuttered over a simple compliment after the Charlie case--and in retrospect, it had been an appalling gown. There had been any number of speaking looks, and soft ones, too.
Not to mention all the times he had taken her logical views on marriage as a personal insult.
She bit her lip. What am I thinking?
Lyrics from an old song drifted through her mind: "Better learn to go it alone/Recognize you're out on your own/Nobody's on nobody's side…"
"That was me--out on my own," she murmured, remembering a foster mother who had loved the obscure musical. The song had resonated with her, even then, and when as an adult she had spotted the old soundtrack in the store she had gone ahead and bought it.
"The one I should not think of
Keeps rolling through my mind
And I don't want to let that go
No lovers ever faithful
No contract truly signed
There's nothing certain left to know
And how the cracks begin to show!
Never make a promise or plan
Take a little love where you can
Nobody's on nobody's side
Never stay too long in your bed
Never lose your heart, use your head…"
The song still spoke to her--but of the past, rather than the present. And, suddenly, terrifyingly, of the future. "No!" she blurted.
Unlike her parents, her brother, and all those who had left her (even if Max and Russ had come back), Booth had stayed. For three years, he had been her constant. To never hear his cheery "Bones, we've got a case" again was unthinkable. To never argue--all right, bicker--about driving, guns, or even "squint-talk" again--the thought made her shudder.
She rose from the chair and crossed to his bedside. "Booth," she whispered. "Seeley…You have to stay. For me--for us. Please…" It was as close to prayer as she could get. Her fingers trailed over his face. "Please live, Booth. I need you," she added brokenly.
She swiped at her eyes impatiently. "Of course you'll survive. It's one of the things you're best at."
She thought about the look in his eyes as she had sung--and she had done it for him. Not for anyone else there, or because of Sweets' words--but for him alone.
"You were right, Booth. Something has changed."
Lyrics from Chess (Broadway version), written by Tim Rice (lyrics), Benny Anderson & Bjorn Ulvaeus (music). The song is called "Nobody's Side."