Okay, Wannabe in the Weeds was like, fanfiction gold. And even though there are like, a kazillion post-ep fics, I just had to. I just. Had. To. I mean, seriously. The end of the episode practically gave me an aortic aneurism.
So yes. Enjoy.
Title: Every Last Breath
Rating: K+... a little language
Summary: Wannabe in the Weeds post-ep Brennan counts the breaths until her partner wakes up again. When more than 10,000 breaths have passed... will he even wake up at all?
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah blah.
"Booth! Come on!"
Brennan pressed her hand against the wound, the only rationality that she could produce. Stop the bleeding. She had to stop the bleeding. Her breathing caught in her throat as she yelled. Anything, keep saying anything, just so that he'll stay awake. She felt like her entire chest was being compressed, her lungs collapsing. The sweet, life-giving oxygen couldn't get in. Constricted, her eyes welled up, she gasped. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't die. She pressed harder against the place where blood spilled through her fingers, soaking his shirt, covering her hands. Tears threatened to swell over her lower lid but she blinked them away. Keep trying, keep yelling, keep pressing down, keep breathing. But she couldn't breathe. She called his name one last time as his eyes fell closed. No. She couldn't keep him awake. Was he breathing? She let out labored gasps, a stranger pulling her away from him. Falling in to Angela's arms, she watched as a gurney carried his inert body away, EMT's directing people, checking his stats.
Angela held her, tears that were merely a threat before now spilling down her face. Brennan stared down at her hands, dripping with his blood.
"I can't breathe," she gasped.
"He's going to be fine, Bren. He's Booth. He'll be fine."
--
She rushed into the ER, Angela, Hodgins, Zack, and Cam following behind her had escaped her mind. Brennan still could barely breathe. Disregarding anything around her, she slapped her hands, still covered with his blood, onto the desk.
"Seeley Booth. Where is he?" she screamed at a nurse that sat there in pink scrubs.
" How long ago was he brought in?" the nurse asked calmly. How could she be so calm? Wait, how long had it been? Six hundred and forty-four breaths. How many minutes is that?
"Half an hour?" she replied, no longer screaming, but yelling with a strong sense of urgency. The nurse looked at her computer. What was taking her so long? Just tell me where he is. Tell me that he's alive. The nurse looked up sympathetically. No. He stopped breathing. He's dead. No.
"I'm sorry- we don't have him in the computer yet. It doesn't happen right away, but I'll tell you as soon as you can see him. Please, sit down."
Brennan didn't move. The young nurse looked up at the small woman. Her pale cheeks were stained up and down with mascara, her eyes were red, her clothes were far from neat and bloodstained. The counter was now painted with blood due to her hands, which were gripping the edge at this point, her knuckles turning white. It didn't look like she was breathing.
"Can I help you in any way?" the nurse peeped.
"I can't breathe," Brennan mumbled as she finally walked away, "I can't breathe."
--
Four hundred and sixty-eight breaths later, she still stared at her hands, mumbling, waiting. Angela had never seen her like this. She just kept repeating her new mantra. I can't breathe. Brennan felt like every breath was an hour. Was he alive or not? I couldn't save him. I couldn't stop him from bleeding. At five hundred breaths, the nurse tapped her shoulder.
"Are you his family?" she asked. Oh no, she thought, oh no, they're not going to let me see him. No. I have to see him. I have to know he's okay. I have to see for myself that he is alive.
"His wife," she lied.
"Come with me, Mrs. Booth." Brennan glanced backwards at Angela as she dutifully followed the nurse. As Brennan followed her down the hall, she spoke again, "They've just finished removing the bullet. He left us for a few minutes, but they revived him. He's asleep right now, and with those meds there's no telling when he'll wake up. Could be two hours, could be eight. They're thinking that he's going to be alright though."
Brennan was next to the bed the moment that she saw him. His eyes were closed and his skin was very pasty. But he was breathing. Oh god, he was alive. When would he wake up? She watched. His chest rose and fell. She sat suspended as he didn't move for a few moments, but then, there he was, chest rising once again. She couldn't stand the suspense, just waiting for his eyes to open. Looking down, she realized that her hand were still bloody. A sink in the corner of the room. She allowed the warm water to flow over her fingers, her eyes flooded once again as the glossy bottom of the sink turned deep red.
Angela entered the room to find her friend hunched over the sink, water streaming down her face anew, gasping over and over again.
"Honey, he's fine. He's just sleeping," she said, rubbing a hand over Brennan's back.
"I couldn't stop the bleeding. What if he doesn't wake up?" She threw her wet, but no longer bloodied, hands over Angela.
"You were brilliant, probably saved his life, Bren. You did the best that anyone could have done," she comforted
"He's not going to wake up," she sobbed, "What the hell am I supposed to do without him?"
"He's going to wake up."
--
11,517 breaths later, all the others had left to go home long ago. But now, at 6 in the morning, Temperance hadn't left the chair next to her partner's hospital bed for even a moment. She yawned over and over, but couldn't find the power to close her eyes. When in the world was he going to wake up?
"Please, Booth, wake up. Come on. I need you to look at me," she begged to the sleeping form, but it rendered no response. She gave an exasperated and sad sigh. A nurse with a round face and short, messy, dark pigtails at the nape of her neck entered the room. She smiled at the sight of Brennan leaned over the bed.
"You," she gave a little accusatory point, "are not his wife." Brennan gave a guilty, pleading look. "Not to worry, darling, I won't tell," the nurse laughed. "I'm Carrie."
"Am I that bad of a liar?" the forensic anthropologist was finally able to respond.
"Calling him by his last name gave it away," Carrie did something to an IV, "when are you going to tell him how you feel?"
"I can't tell him much of anything right now," Brennan said, ignoring the implications that the question had.
"He'll wake up soon enough," the bright nurse reassured the desperate woman, "can I get you anything?"
"No, not really." She sighed, staring at the bandage over her partner's chest. Dr. Brennan didn't even shift in her seat for the next 7,654 breaths. She simply couldn't understand why he wasn't waking up. It was way past the two to eight hours that pink scrubs nurse had said. She prayed to a god that she didn't believe in that he would wake up. She couldn't wait any longer. Wasn't there anything they could do? She was angry with herself, angry with the situation, and angry with waiting.
"Wake up, Booth," she basically commanded. She waited and there was nothing.
"Damn it Booth! What am I supposed to do if you don't wake up?" she was standing, full out yelling at this point, "Oh no, you cannot die on me."
"Seeley Booth, you will wake up or so help me, I do not know what I will do," Brennan's statements wavered between angry and frantically distressed. She stood right over him, "I love you, Seeley. If you die, I will personally demand that this God of yours give you back."
"I don't think that's how it works," Booth whispered without opening his eyes. She did a double take before collapsing next to him, cradling one of his hands. "Bones," he said with a smile, the deep brown of his eyes comforting her.
"Booth, what took you so long to wake up?" she gently admonished.
"Just waiting for the magic words," Booth replied, charming even while in a hospital bed.
"Huh?"
"Wanted you to say that you loved me." A blush crept up into her face, "I love you too, Bones. Temperance."
"Don't you dare stop breathing ever again."
"I promise. As long as you're with me every time that I wake up."
"I promise."
"Say it again," he said with shining eyes.
"I promise?"
"No."
"I love you?" she said slowly.
"Yes, that one."
"I love you, Seeley. So much that I'd give up my every last breath for you," and Booth pressed his lips against her neck, her cheek, her chin, her nose, and finally, with a slow pause, her lips. He pressed his lips against hers softly with a kiss that could have taken the breath right out of anyone.