A/N: Hello, everyone. :) Mmm... I'm MidnightRaith, and I've decided to post this fic to sort of satisfy my own desire for one like this. Basically, I've been trying very hard for the past week or so to find an AU of The Woman in Limbo. My efforts turned up ziltch. Trust me, I tried every tag I could imagine... If anybody knows of one that I just couldn't find, then I'd be happy to hear from you. I'd love to read how others picture this going.
Moving on, this is essencially a fic about what would happen if Brennan had to do the ID on a Jane Doe under far different circumstances...
My one-time disclaimer: I don't take claim for anything related to Bones.
1
Jenna Langford never really paid mind to checking up on the patient in Room 203. It was a pretty easy patient, what with the woman in question confined to a coma for the past nine years. It was a simple matter to just check Jane Doe's vitals and move on. The young nurse fresh out of college didn't expect this morning to go any differently.
She entered Room 203 as she did last Tuesday and the Thursday before that, however, this morning would prove to be significantly different. Instead of seeing Ms. Doe lying unmoving in her bed as she predicted, the older woman was struggling to take stock of her hospital room.
Jenna stopped in her tracks as she tried to remember what she was supposed to do in this situation. Eventually, the young nurse opted to backtrack and call a doctor as the nurse's station. Her co-workers were baffled when they head the page and corresponding room number.
"Did you get the right room number, dear?" Wilma Wilcox, one of the more experienced nurses, questioned doubtfully.
"Yeah!" Jenna defended frantically, "I totally went in there and saw her looking around."
"You're sure?" Wilma pressed, "I've not seen the poor thing move a muscle in all the years she's been here. You're sure it was her?"
"Yes, Wilma! I'm completely sure the lady snapped out of her coma," Jenna answered as she wrung her hands.
"Well, did you say anything to her?" Wilma asked as she stood up suddenly from behind the counter, "Don't tell me you just left the poor woman."
"Ah…."
Muttering under her breath about the insensitivity of young people, Wilma hurried to Room 203 with Jenna trailing behind her. Once she made her way to the room, she was surprised to find that they younger woman had been correct. Jane Doe was now blinking quickly and facing the ceiling.
Wilma managed her shock much better than Jenna.
"Hello, dear," she greeted the woman who didn't appear much younger than herself, "It's okay to feel frightened, but you're safe here."
Dark, brown eyes snapped to the nurse. For several long moments, the unknown woman struggled for something to say. She eventually blinked and settled for one of her many questions. Unfortunately, she was unable to speak around the breathing tube.
"Oh! Jenna, get her some water," Wilma said hurriedly as she began to carefully extract the tube from Jane's mouth, "This is just a breathing tube to help you. The water will be for the sore throat."
The woman had no idea what to make of anything Wilma was telling her, but she didn't have long to think on it. Dr. Henson and Jenna arrived within moments of each other.
"Well, good morning," the doctor greeted warmly as Jenna administered the water, "I'm very glad to finally see you awake."
Under the insistence of Jenna, Jane Doe drank her water slowly. Dr. Henson checked her vitals in the meantime, but waited patiently for her once she was finished.
"Finally?" the woman managed to croak out. She didn't like it; her throat felt distinctly unused.
The doctor smiled sympathetically, "I know this will be hard for you to process, but please let me explain. You're here at Central DuPage Hospital in Winfield, Illinois. You were dropped off, unconscious by an unknown party with a head wound. My predecessor did all he could for you, but unfortunately, you slipped into a coma. You've shown no change previous to today."
For several minutes, the woman took her time to process what Henson told her. She had no memory of anything to speak of and she could not understand who would have left her here or why. The other pressing concern was the coma the doctor just spoke of. She had little memory of who she was, but she did know what various ideas, concepts and objects were.
"How long?"
The doctor debated telling her this. While competent at his profession, he had little to no experience with long term coma patients. He had no idea if what he was about to tell her would violently upset her. The woman lost nine years of her life. Dr. Henson sighed and figured that the poor woman would never recover if she didn't know the truth of her condition from the start.
"You were checked in nine years ago," he carefully revealed.
Jane Doe blinked in utter shock. Her mind kept echoing the doctor's words. How could she have been here for nearly a decade? How could she have been on life support for that long?
"An unknown benefactor has been supporting you," Henson answered the question she had not realized she posed.
"Why?" she gasped out.
"We don't know," he told her uncomfortably.
"Who am I?" the woman posed not a second later.
The doctor looked even more unsettled.
"We don't know," he repeated, "The hospital has made inquiries, but they've hit dead ends without you or anyone you could have known to aid in them. Now that you're conscious, I can have another made for you, however it won't go far unless you can give us something, anything, to tell the people at Missing Persons."
She was silent for several long moments as she struggled with what she knew. Actually, she was well aware of what she knew; the woman needed to concentrate on whom.
"Keenan!" she blurted out.
The doctor and nurses jumped in surprise. Clearly, they did not expect for her to give them any kind of information at all.
"Anything else?" Dr. Henson inquired after his surprise lifted.
The woman opened her mouth to tell him that she had nothing else, but another name made her stop. This one made everything around her freeze. She knew the previous one, and knew it well. It was one she associated with recklessness and adrenaline… and greed. The new one, however, brought back feelings even more powerful. Chief among them were safety and temperance. There were many more, including happiness, however they all linked and spun together in a way that made any other feelings nearly indiscernible. The exact significance of this name, or the other, wasn't clear to her. Rather, it was clear that this one was much more important than the first.
"For-forget about the first name," she breathed.
"First? You have another?" Henson asked.
"Yes. Look for Brennan."
"Is this a first or last name?" he questioned.
"I don't know."
Henson accepted her answer and attempted to inquire about any other issues she may have been experiencing. The woman wouldn't answer, however. She was tired, confused and could feel a headache beginning. She wanted to take the time to think.
"All right, Ms. Doe," Dr. Henson began once he realized there wasn't going to be any more conversation with her, "I'd like to keep you here for a bit longer for observation and therapy. There's a television and if you're in need of anything, you can page a nurse with the button to you left."
Everyone left the woman to her own devices after that. She didn't know if she should feel grateful or lonely to be left here. She had a lot of information to process, regardless of her feelings, but she did know something with certainty.
She hated the name Jane Doe.
Five Years Later
She had an appointment with some man from Missing Persons. It still amazed her that it took those people two years to even look at her case. Apparently, since she could support herself and wasn't in mortal danger, they put her case is some messy pile of paperwork and forgot about it until she began to get annoying. Government at its finest, won't do anything until someone complains; loudly.
If there was any sort of advantage to all the waiting, it would be that she had started to regain her past slowly, but steadily, in the past three years. It was agonizing for her to dream of faces, events and places yet not have the ability to realizes their significance or place them in any sort of cohesive timeline. That's how it was at first, through persistent therapy and hypnosis; she was slowly able to recall more and more of herself.
Her name was Christine Brennan for starters and she was married to a man named Matthew. Surprisingly, those names seemed wrong to her at first, and still do in a way, however those feelings were disregarded when she remembered the other two faces.
Christine Brennan had children. Temperance and Russell Brennan whom she remembered one day while out shopping. She never would have guessed that her interest in a dolphin figurine would prompt her to recall that she loved the creatures and that Temperance did as well. Once the name came to her, Russ's did as well and the fact that they were her children hit her with the force of a ten ton truck barreling down the interstate.
Everything after that seemed so trivial. She was very certain that she cared deeply for her husband, but those feelings were nothing when compared to her children. She remembered that they were young when she would have been taken to the hospital. Why wouldn't they have known she was there? Were they all right? She couldn't believe that they would have simply forgotten about her. Christine could not remember what had led to her coma. Only that it was tied to Max, or rather Matt, and the events that occurred before Temperance was two. She thought that odd. Before she met her husbands, the memories were getting cleared, as did the ones after sometime following her daughter's second birthday. However, there was a noticeable gap. After she met her husband, and between Christmas time and her admittance in the hospital she could recall nothing. It seemed bizarre and not at all good.
What happened to Max… Matt? He was not safe, that much she was sure.
The woman was jarred from her thoughts once she heard a knock at her apartment door. She'd moved to the outskirts of DC on a whim a few months after she got out from the hospital. Christine had no real idea why, but she worked as a bookkeeper for a local business. It was what she remembered, she supposed.
She opened the door to reveal a large, slightly over-weight man that looked to be in his thirties.
"Christine Brennan?" he flashed his badge, "I'm with the FBI in the Missing Persons and Kidnapping Division."
She stepped aside.
"FBI?"
"Yes, this type of case falls under the jurisdiction of the Bureau. Now, I'm to understand that you have amnesia?" he asked as he made himself at home on her couch and began to spread her file out on her coffee table.
"If I didn't, then we'd probably not be having this conversation," she said irritably.
Christine knew she was being rude, however, she felt justified considering the FBI apparently took their time with her case. She could understand that more recent reports would take precedent, but the five year wait seemed a bit extreme to her. Really, it would technically be… what? Fourteen, fifteen years when she last saw her family?
"Yes, probably not," the agent had the grace to look uncomfortable, "Anyway, my name is Agent Mark Mason and I've—"
"Agent Mason, I'm sorry that I'm a bit annoyed right now, but I've been waiting for this for years. Can you please just tell me if you've found out exactly who I am?"
"Right, of course," he said after a pause, "I believe I have found your exact identity. It was a bit of a giveaway at first glance. The only problem was tracking down someone to verify that you are, in fact, Christine Brennan.
"So, that's true then," she said softly, "Wait, why would verification be difficult? I remember children… my children. Wh-what happened to them?"
Mason exhaled loudly, "That's the tricky part. Apparently, when Christine Brennan and Matthew Brennan—who I do believe is your husband and yourself—disappeared, they left behind children."
"Yes, Russ and Tempe," she confirmed. Christine was a bit surprised that the nicknames came to her so suddenly.
"Right, you left them for whatever reason. I questioned anyone that would have resided in your neighborhood, but no one seemed to have any idea why the both of you left," Mason could barely mask his disapproval.
"Please, Agent Mason, why my husband and I disappeared doesn't matter to me right now. I just want to know what happened to my children," she pressed.
"Mrs. Brennan, you don't think your children will want to know what happened to make their parents abandon them?" he asked incredulously.
Christine bristled, "I'm sure they will, but whatever happened doesn't change the fact that I need to find them. Besides, I can't remember and I doubt Max and I told anyone anything. Only time will help."
"Max? I thought your husband was named Matthew," Mason asked in confusion.
"It was what he liked to be called," she said dismissively, "Agent Mason…."
He studied her for several moments before continuing, "According to your previous neighbors, it wasn't a few weeks later until your son left and you daughter had to be put in the foster system."
Christine stood up suddenly as Mason's words reverberated within her. She was shocked. The amnesiac may not remember a variety of things, but she was sure that she remembers her children. At least, she remembered who they used to be. Russ may have been eager to find a god time, and trouble by extension, but she recalled that he had been devoted and protective of his younger sister. Why would he have left her? Why did she leave?
Then there was her poor Temperance; so brilliant, yet awkward. She was often more at home within books then around her peers. Her daughter had been confused and disarmed by social situations most people wouldn't think about. How could she possibly have handled foster care?
"Where did they end up?" she asked softly.
Agent Mason was reluctant to tell her one half of this story. He realized that he had misjudged this woman. After going over her case and digging up everything he could, Mason couldn't believe that Christine Brennan would actually care about her children. He figured the woman was financially insecure and wanted to take advantage of her situation. His theory was only strengthened once he found out who the daughter was. No that here were many Temperance Brennans, but there was a chance…. He thought it suspicious that two seemingly normal people would just leave their lives behind, but apparently Mrs. Brennan really didn't remember. Since there wasn't anything obviously criminal about her aside from a fifteen year old child negligence charge, there wasn't much he could look into. He shrugged mentally; she seemed to care at least.
"Russell ended up in North Carolina and got arrested for running a mechanic shop that sold hot car parts. He's out on parole now," Mason finally told her.
Arrested and on parole. Her son has a criminal record. Never had Christine wanted to know why she left than now. She was certain her son wouldn't have been in his situation if she and Max had not left. She was scared to think of what may have happened to her daughter if Russ was any indication.
"Temperance? What… what happened to her?" she asked fearfully.
"Well, fortunately, you daughter had a happier ending. After she aged out of foster care, she went to Northwestern University on scholarship. Got her a doctorate in forensic anthropology and went to work for the Jeffersonian Institute. Actually, the FBI has been consulting with her on several murder cases. Dr. Brennan's even written a novel," he finished.
Christine gaped at him. She knew her daughter was very gifted, but this was far more than she could have hoped for. She was pleased that Temperance made the best of her situation despite her doubts of the foster system. Apparently, Tempe had a pleasant experience with it.
She could hardly believe that she was probably only a few miles away from her daughter as well. She was pleased, yet saddened at the thought. What if she read more? Would she have checked out her daughter's novel from the library? Saw her in the paper? If she was really helping with murder cases, there had to have been some indication in the city. How could she have missed this? Christine figured she was too busy trying to fix her life to notice that at least a third of it was within city limits.
She found her voice.
"I-I thought you were having difficulty finding them?" she got out.
"Well, Russell Brennan was simple, but your daughter was more difficult. There aren't a great many Temperance Brennans in the world, but the foster system did make things easy. Apparently, she went through quite a list of families and homes. Took some time to get through them, but I managed. I was ready to contact one of them, most likely Dr. Brennan, but you insisted on meeting with me," Mason answered.
"Well, I wanted to make sure my case was being looked into," Christine said defensively.
"And it is. So, would you like me to contact your daughter, or would you like to meet her with me? It would probably be a simple matter to get a cab over to the Hoover Building. Of course, I'll have to inform her why we'd like to meet her," he stated.
"I-yes, that would probably be best. I'd like to speak with Russ too," she added.
"I can arrange that, but it would probably be a better idea to have your daughter verify your identity to start with. That way we can make sure you are who we think you are and to have time to do the necessary paperwork. It's not easy to get a parolee out of state."
They made their plans and eventually Agent Mason left her apartment. Christine had thought she would feel better after meeting with him, but she didn't. The man answered many of her questions, but more replaced them. Temperance could probably answer them, but she felt horribly nervous about meeting her. It occurred to Christine that her children may not be a happy to see her as she was them. They would have questions for her as well and she would have nothing to give them. She hoped they will able to understand.
A/N #2: Okay, I will freely admit that I sort of cheated on the coma thing. I realize that people don't usually recover from a coma lasting as many years as Mama Bren's did. (Though there is a case of a Polish man completely recovering from a nineteen year coma. Amazing right?) I also know that anyone that actually awakens from any sort of coma are extremely disoriented and would not actually start talking and interacting with their surroundings like this story. However, as I debated about whether to keep this realistic versus a Hollywood writing ploy, I decided that had I chose the former, the fic would have stalled and the reader would be having to go through significantly more narrative. Perhaps another chapter of it. I really wouldn't expect y'all to want to go through that, especially when I find it boring to write about to begin with. If anyone is disappointed about this development (because Bones enjoys the sciency bits, even when they aren't completely accurate) then I apologize, and I hope you can forgive me. :)
That said, look forward to Brennan, Booth and a bit of the squints in the next chapter...
