Disclaimer: Bones belongs to Fox and Hart Hanson; I'm just playing with the characters and return them unharmed when I'm done with them. Title and lyrics are property of The Killers.

Notes: So I tried not to jump on the bandwagon of speculation-fic for the end of Season 4, but this just begged to be written and who am I to ignore my muses, even when homework is screaming at me to be finished?

* * *

but my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
and my eyes, they don't see you no more
and my lips, they don't kiss, they don't kiss the way they used to,

and my eyes don't recognize you no more
for reasons unknown; for reasons unknown

--the killers, "for reasons unknown"

* * *

It started off as a simple headache. He thought it was eye strain; Bones had made it abundantly clear to him that as he neared middle age, it became much more likely that he would require vision correction sooner rather than later. He scheduled an appointment with an optometrist and put away his worry in the same corner of his mind where he filed old girlfriends' birthdays.

When the optometrist told him that his vision was perfect, the worry started to trickle back into the front of his mind. He told Bones the good news about his eyes and reassured her when she asked that, yes, he'd already scheduled an appointment with his family doctor.

That appointment was going fine until Dr. Harrison asked if he had any other symptoms besides the headache. Booth hadn't wanted to admit to the hallucinations, to Luc Robitaille and Teddy Parker and cartoon characters that laid bare all his insecurities about his abilities as a father, but he was smart enough to know that hallucinations were a bad thing.

It's after that point that things get a little fuzzy. Booth knows that he was shuffled off to a neurologist and that he's had practically every type of scan performed on his head in the past week and that he's never been quite this scared before in his entire life. He doesn't even know what's wrong yet and all he can seem to think about is how he can't die, not now, because his son needs his father.

"Booth?"

He glances over at his partner, seated in the chair next to him in the exam room the nurse had shown them to nearly twenty minutes ago. Booth hadn't been a big fan of her coming with him, but Bones had insisted and he'd always had a very hard time telling her no.

"Are you okay?"

Booth wants to laugh at the absurdity of her question. Of course he's not okay. He might be dying. At the very least, there's something seriously wrong with him. How can she even ask him if he's okay?

But then he really looks at her. Her clothing is as impeccable as always, but much simpler than usual. There is no necklace decorating her delicate throat. Her mother's earrings, which Booth knows she only wears when she's worried, hang from her ears. Her hair is pulled into a simple ponytail at the back of her head and there is the barest hint of makeup on her face.

She looks tired.

She looks scared.

And that's when Booth realizes that she's not really asking if he's okay. She's asking if he's as scared as she is. And he is. So he reaches out and takes her right hand in his left, his fingers slipping easily between hers.

"Not really, Bones."

She returns his honesty with some of her own, resting her forehead against his, their knees barely touching.

"Me, neither."

They stay that way until they hear footsteps outside the door to the exam room. Their clasped hands span the small space between them as the neurologist opens the door and steps inside and then they face this problem like they've faced every problem before.

Together.

.end.