Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.
Okay
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"C'mon Michael, everything will be okay. Promise."
That sentence had become sort of the staple between them. Michael had lost count of how many times Christine had said that line throughout their friendship and then, as they got older, their romantic relationship. She said it whenever she was dragging him into something she swore was going to be fun or after their little arguments that always seemed to be caused by complete misunderstandings. But she mostly said it with a roll of her eyes and a smirk on her lips whenever Michael couldn't quite grasp her infinite hunger for excitement.
Michael remembers distinctly the first time he noticed the trend. It was a couple months after the official start of their relationship, sometime during their sophomore year of high school, when they had gone out for what Michael thought would be a simple date…only for him to find out that Christine had scheduled them for three rounds of paintball.
Against a team of ex-Marines.
She had only laughed at his stunned expression and said, "C'mon Michael, everything will be okay. Promise."
Michael was concerned, of course, as he put on his gear and calculated the many different ways they could injure themselves. They could get shot in the throat or their goggles could shatter and blind their eyes. Or maybe there would be a storm and they could get struck by lightning (although it was the middle of the summer). Part of him knew he was being more than a little irrational, but the other part of Michael had learned, after growing up with Christine, to be prepared for the worst. Anything could happen when it came to Christine Booth. She loved danger and adrenaline and excitement, and she seemed to attract it wherever she went.
Christine had said the same line when Michael was having trouble with his classes during their first term at Georgetown University. When Michael had said that he needed some time (not a break up, just a break), three years into their relationship, to focus and figure things out...to figure himself out. Without Christine around. He felt awful for doing it, and came close to breaking down in front of her as he explained himself, but it was something he needed to do. And she nodded and held back her tears, because rationally she understood what he was talking about. They had been attached at the hip since they were babies; it made sense to want some time apart. She knew he would come back to her soon.
She kissed his cheek once before she turned and walked out of his dorm room door. Over her shoulder she called. "Everything will be okay, Mikey. Promise. I love you."
And she said it again a week later when Michael showed up at her dorm room at half past two in the morning. He was soaked head-to-toe from the pouring rain outside with apologies and amends falling from his mouth faster than Christine could understand them.
She took his hand and smiled as she said, "C'mon inside and dry off, Michael, everything will be okay. I promise."
And then she pulled Michael into her dorm, closed the door behind him, and pressed her lips to his.
It had become the catchphrase of their relationship.
Michael had come to know and trust those words, because often times when Christine said that it was going to be okay...She was right. Everything would be okay.
This...This was not one of those times.
"Chris, how can you even say that right now?" Michael demanded. His voice wavered, laced with panic, as he held the blond woman in his lap. His hands moved over Christine's body nervously, never staying in one place for too long for fear of hurting her.
"Call Dad," Christine gasped out, her face full of panic.
Michael tore his eyes away from Christine to search for their phones. He found her phone first. It was a few feet away, face down on the pavement, and he quickly grabbed it. The screen was shattered from when she dropped it, but it still worked.
"Hold on, Chris, I'm calling your Dad."
His fingers shook as he found her father's cell phone number under her contacts and pressed 'call'. He nearly hyperventilated, locking eyes with Christine, as the phone started to ring.
"Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up," Michael whispered under his breath.
His whispering was interrupted when Booth answered the phone, his voice practically smiling.
"Hey, how's my college girl?"
"This…this is Michael," words tumbled out of Michael, as he tried to explain the situation as quickly as he could, "Christine is hurt. We were out on a date and some guy attacked us and—"
"What!" Booth shouted into the phone, "Where are you? What happened? We are on our way!"
They had been out on a date.
Michael picked Christine up from her apartment for a night of adventure. They took the metro train into the city to show her around a few of his newest favorite places. He led her around the city as he pointed out the bakery he stumbled upon a couple weeks previously that he kept meaning to show her, the places he'd found on a bike ride one Sunday morning, and even the parks he'd visit in the middle of the night to clear his head.
"We're in an ally off of Southeast Anacostia," Michael explained into the phone quickly, "A guy tried to rob us. Christine got shot and—"
"Shot!? Michael, listen to me," Booth was clearly trying to keep his voice calm, but Michael could hear how emotional he was becoming, "Put pressure on the wound, we are on our way. Ten, fifteen minutes. Tops."
Michael's right hand flew to Christine's stomach, where he pressed down hard on the wound.
They had dinner at a nice restaurant. Michael pointed out that his parents would take him there if he had a perfect score on a big test when he was a kid, which, in his case, was pretty often anyway. Christine just twirled her fettuccini and smiled at Michael as he told her story after story. Most she had heard before, but some were new. She teased him when he forgot to mention that he only passed his junior history class because he copied her notes.
It was the easy, playful banter that made both Christine and Michael remember why they loved each other so much.
"Ah, Michael!" She cried out at the sudden pressure on her stomach.
"We are on our way, just hold on," Booth continued to talk to Michael into the phone, but Michael wasn't listening. He set the phone down next to Christine's shoulder so he could apply pressure to the wound with both hands.
They finished their dinner and Michael paid the bill before Christine could attempt to snatch it off the table. They held hands as they walked out of the restaurant, and suddenly Michael had gotten a brilliant idea. There was an ice cream shop nearby, a small establishment that he and a friend had frequented after their last class on Fridays. Michael wanted to take Christine by the place, as he claimed it had the best ice cream he'd ever tasted, hands down and no arguments. And, as usual, she loved his plan. She never said no to ice cream.
"You know, Mikey, I don't feel any pain anymore," she chuckled to herself as she continued, "W-Wow, that sounded extremely cliché."
Christine grinned up at her boyfriend. Her teeth were stained red.
The ice cream, true to Michael's word, was the best Christine ever had. Handmade in the store every day, offered in so many flavors that Christine hadn't known where to start, but Michael walked her through the whole store, joking and laughing with the storeowner as he held his girlfriend's hand and led her down the line of selections. They were the only ones in the store, so the owner was kind enough to let them sample each and every one of the flavors.
"That's pretty much the worst thing you can tell me right now, babe," Michael whimpered, his left hand moved to her face, to smoothing back her blond locks. He tried to focus his eyes on her face, and not to look down at her stomach, at his blood-soaked hand pressing hard on the dark red stain on her once-white dress.
Christine just laughed at him, then winced. Her bright blue eyes still had that cheerful glimmer to them as she met Michael's gaze.
"Alright, so maybe it hurts when I laugh."
It was late then and Christine was having one of the best nights of her life, and wanted to the night to go on. Maybe they could take a walk in the park? But Michael had seen more than plenty of dead bodies at the Lab and he watched the news enough to know that parts of Washington DC could be dangerous at night. He was looking out for her safety, that's all. Christine tried to calm him down and assure him that there was no need for concern because they weren't in any danger and he could always protect her. But Michael insisted that they head back to the train. Whatever else they had planned could wait for another night.
"If it hurts, then don't laugh," Michael instructed. His eyes broke away from Christine's just long enough to look up and scan the alleyway again, his ears straining for the sounds of sirens or voices or footsteps.
Nothing.
"Damn it, where is your Dad?!" Michael cried out.
"Yeah, the response time here in the city...Nngh, it's not so great. You would think Dad would be able get here much faster," Christine groaned as pain rushed through her body, she coughed and grimaced at the metallic taste in her mouth, "Fuck, this is bad. They don't really make it out to be this terrible in the movies, you know?"
"Shh. You can't keep talking, Christine. It's not...It's not good for you. You need to...Just focus on—"
Focus on not dying.
Michael can't quite bring himself to say it. And Christine can't quite bring herself to finish his sentence for him.
Christine knew a shortcut back to the train station. She warned Michael that it was through a pretty shady part of town. He offered to pay for a cab, but both of them decided it wasn't worth it. The station was only a few blocks away and while the shortcut wasn't exactly well lit, it wasn't too bad. It was along a street at least, and not though alleyways and abandoned car lots, so Michael couldn't really complain.
"Chris? Christine, no, keep your eyes open!" Michael shook Christine gently when he noticed her closing eyelids, and the blond slowly opened her eyes enough to give her boyfriend a small nod.
"Oh, right, sleeping is bad," her eyes were still half-closed, "I just feel really tired all of a sudden, ya'know?"
Christine's words were starting to slur together.
Michael gritted his teeth and glanced down at the phone on the pavement next to Christine's shoulder. The call was still connected, and he was sure Booth could hear everything they were saying. Booth could hear how bad this was getting.
Still no sirens.
The guy came out of nowhere. He had a gun in his hand and he waved it around like he didn't care one bit about either of their lives. To be fair, that was probably true since he looked wired on cocaine or maybe heroin or something, too out of it to keep from glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.
Neither of them wanted trouble.
Michael snapped back to reality as he felt Christine's body become still in his lap.
"Christine, c'mon, say something," he begged her.
Christine gave him a hazy look and smiled again. She attempted to speak, but only gurgled in response.
Michael felt his blood freeze in his veins.
The guy was looking over his shoulder again when Christine and Michael exchanged worried glances as they pulled out their wallets and phones. He glanced back long enough to snatch their wallets, then turned again, his whole body constantly shaking like he was trying to decide whether to stay or flee at any given moment.
Christine dropped her phone as she handed it over.
She bent to retrieve it and belatedly, the addict in front of them jumped, whirled around and screeched, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, blondie? You got a fuckin' knife hidden down there or something?!"
Christine quickly straightened up with her phone in her hand, mouth already open and ready to explain that she was just trying to pick up the phone from the ground.
The man didn't give her any time to explain.
The expression Christine gave him was concerned, but not panicked. She cleared her throat and tried to answer again.
"Something," She finally managed. She gave him one of her infuriatingly endearing smirks.
Her voice sounded so weak...so small.
The gun went off and Christine hit the ground. The guy dropped the gun with a gasp. He turned on heel and ran off. He was gone before Michael had time to react to what just happened.
The man didn't even take their wallets.
Christine started to tremble in his arms, her teeth chattering together as a pool of red slowly spread around her. He could feel the blood beneath his hands.
Michael had given up on any sense of decency at this point. Tears poured from his eyes, and he choked back a sob. His right hand pressed harder on her stomach, while he used his other arm to cradle Christine to his chest. He rocked back and forth while he continuously pushed back her blonde curly hair, murmuring to her in a desperate attempt to keep her awake and talking.
He could hear sirens in the distance, probably belonging to their parents, but they were still too far off to make him even the slightest bit more relieved.
"It's going to be okay, Christine. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. I promise," Michael whispered, his bloody hand leaving a stain across her forehead as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. His right hand pressed harder into her stomach.
Christine's eyes fluttered open for just a moment.
She shook her head and glanced up at Michael's face long enough to shoot him a little upward twitch of her lips before she closed her eyes.
"Hey, that's my line."