Hey all -- like so many Bones fans, I got inspired by Wannabe in the Weeds. Here's my take on Brennan's perspective in the moments -- or hours -- after the shooting. Now, off to work on other fics! Thanks for reading! :-)

Vigil

by

Starsearcher

Rating: PG
Summary: All we can do is wait. (another post-Wannabe in the Weeds fic – one shot)
Disclaimer: This is only my little dance into the world of Bones fanfiction. All characters/themes/places belong to the creators of the show. Thanks for reading.

The noise had stopped.

It was one of the first things she noticed, one of the first things she had actually paid attention to.

It was quieter.

Time – time ticked by so slowly, but much of it must have passed, because there were less people around now. The couple she'd seen waiting across from her when she'd first collapsed into the tan and puce colored chair was gone. She remembered strange details about them; the man had been gripping the woman around her waist, tightly, as though trying to hold her together with his hands. The woman had been crying. Her shirt had been a loud shade of pink. Distasteful; too bright for a place like this. Too out of place.

They had left hours ago. Maybe days. She couldn't remember.

Sometime ago someone had put a coat around her shoulders. Maybe Angela, maybe Cam. The material felt heavy; it wasn't her coat. Her lower lip trembled at the thought that it might be his.

He didn't even have a coat, the voice in her mind told her. And all of his clothes would have been spoiled. The blood was everywhere, remember?

She looked down at her hands. She remembered.

They were clean now; Angela had taken her to the hospital bathroom to wash them of his blood. The scrubbing had left red marks against her skin, but part of her thought it was more likely that the blood itself had somehow stayed, a ghostly pale crimson, a remnant that she was not permitted to fully wash away.

His blood on her hands. Because it was her fault, wasn't it?

Illogical, her mind told her. He was shot. You didn't fire the gun. It's not your fault.

But she couldn't quite convince herself. A lot of heart, he would have said. A lot of heart was getting in the way of logic.

"Sweetie, you really should go home. Get some sleep."

Angela's voice; she sounded so tired. Why was she even here still?

"The surgery's going to take at least ten more hours, Dr. Brennan."

Hodgins now. Of course he'd be here. She wondered if he was holding Angela the way the man earlier had held his companion. Protectively. Lovingly.

"Has she eaten anything?"

"No. She threw up everything hours ago. She hasn't moved since."

Their voices sounded hushed now. Distant. It was easy to place them with the rest of the noise – far, far away, where it couldn't reach her. The world felt so far away.

You need sleep, her mind scolded. This is irrational behavior. You can't do anything now. Why are you still here?

There were forms to fill out. She was sure there had been forms. Someone had called Rebecca and Parker – they had been on vacation. A surge of guilt exploded inside – she should have been the one to do that. They should have heard it from her.

She couldn't remember where she'd been. What had been so important that she couldn't call them?

She remembered.

She had been breathing. Trying, trying to keep breathing. When the weight of everything had felt like it had crushed in her lungs, had ripped her insides apart like his, had torn life away from her in a second that had stretched for hours – she had been trying to keep breathing. Trying to keep steady. To keep from falling.

Because no one had been holding her together. No one had gripped her the way that man had gripped that woman, as though both of their lives had depended on it. Everyone had been afraid to touch her, as though touching would have broken her into pieces, instead of keeping her whole. She had always been the one who liked her space, like time to gather her thoughts and to keep herself strong.

He was the only one who would have said to hell with that, and hugged her anyway.

She shivered. She ran one hand up and down the side of the opposite arm, her skin tingling from the thought. She could almost feel his arms around her, his head resting against her shoulder, his breathing calm and soothing. He would have wrapped her up so tightly in his embrace, and she knew he'd never let her go unless he was sure she would hold strong together on her own.

But he couldn't that right now. He couldn't even keep himself together.

"Sweetie? Please, can we take you home?"

She finally looked up. They were standing in front of her now, looking expectantly at her. Numbly, she shook her head.

"Dr. Brennan," Hodgins began. She shook her head again, more fiercely this time. Angela's eyes were pleading with her.

They had to understand. She had to do this. To keep vigil. To stay, if not by his side, but in the same place of darkness where he was now fighting for his life. She knew he was fighting; his eyes had seared that thought into her before they had wrenched him away from her grasp. His eyes had told her he'd fight for her.

She swallowed, using her voice for the first time in hours. It sounded hoarse even to her, but she had to make them understand.

"I'm not leaving him."

Hodgins looked as though he would protest further, but Angela placed a hand on his arm. Her eyes were bright. She turned to him, kissed his cheek, and then sat down in the next seat.

"Ange?" He sounded so confused.

"Grab some clothes from my drawers, and my toiletry kit from the bathroom, and bring them back here."

"Angie—"

"Trust me." She paused, and then in a much quieter voice, "If it were you…"

He nodded then. Leaned in for another kiss. And then he was gone.

"Sweetie?"

She looked over. Angela was holding out her arms. A sob suddenly seemed lodged in her throat. She let herself fall into her friend's open embrace, let her hold her as best as she could – a close substitute for the real thing. She wondered when she could have him hold her this way again. She wondered if she'd have to learn to live without it. She wondered how she had ever survived without it before. The thoughts swirled like one stormy mass, tossed about in forceful gales within her mind, threatening to crush her all over again.

She shut her eyes against it.

All they could do now was wait.