The Sleepless in the Solitude
Temperance Brennan turned over in bed for the umpteenth time. Unable to sleep, she buried her tear-streaked face in Booth's t-shirt, breathing deeply to calm herself with his inhaled scent. The baby would be awake for another feeding in 45 minutes and she desperately needed some rest. Intellectually, she knew Agent Miller was just doing her job; that IA agents always came off seeming adversarial because of their role in the FBI. She knew it wasn't rational to abhor the woman, but Booth had diluted her resolute rationality over the years with his 'brain and heart, Bones, brain and heart' philosophy. Their fierce love for and devotion to one another had melded them into a single being. Missing her other half, Brennan could barely breathe, live, or function. But she HAD to move forward, care for their children, read the bones, follow the clues, digging and clawing until she'd found her husband, cleared him of suspicion, and cared for his wounds.
Padme had looked daggers at her during their visit. Brennan knew Jared's loss hurt her deeply, despite their recent quarrels. She had to find the answers to restore her family and Padme too. She sighed and looked at the bedside clock. 2:45. The bedroom doorknob turned, and the door opened a crack as a small head peeked in. "Mommy? I can't sleep. I miss Daddy. Can I get in bed with you?" Christine asked hesitantly. She knows her mother has to feed her baby brother at night. And a big sister has to be considerate of that, her father had said.
"Christine, sweetie, yes, come here," Brennan said softly. She pulled back the covers and nestled the little girl beside her. "I know you miss Daddy, I do too, Go back to sleep, honey. You have school in the morning." Brennan tucked Christine's her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. The little girl curled into her and is soon asleep again. Her mother stifled a sob. How many times has Booth done the same with her hair? Where is he? How badly is he injured? What on earth was he doing out there?" Her mind swam with agonizing unanswered questions.
A hungry whimper came through the baby monitor. Their son was awake again, wanting his mother, needing them both. Wearily, Brennan sat up in bed, wiped her eyes, and pushed back the covers. Sliding her hand over the cool sheets on Booth's empty side of the bed, she sighed and sobbed again. Careful not to wake Christine, she gently tucked their daughter in. Standing, she walked down the hall into the nursery and picked the baby up. She hugged him tight, inhaled his sweet baby scent and spoke softly. "Hungry, little guy? Let's get you changed and fed."
Settled in Gram's antique wooden rocker that Booth and Parker had refinished before Christine's birth, Brennan watched her son nurse contentedly and longed to share his placid unconcerned state of mind. The baby gazed up at her with his father's brown eyes. Brennan closed hers and whispered a prayer to a God she didn't really believe in, but Booth did. "Keep him safe, bring him home, help us find him, please."
oooooooooooooooo
Across town sitting on a grimy basement floor, leaning heavily against a rough brick wall, Booth pressed a torn blood-sogged t-shirt against his oozing abdominal wound, and stared up at the moon through a small dingy barred window. "Give me strength, give her strength, help me get home to them, please," he prayed desperately.