So. Yeah, another Bones story. I've gotten back into Bones now. Thank you for all the lovely feedback on Home Is Where the Heart Is. All those reviews made my day, my week...possibly my month.
So I'm planning for this to be a two-shot, but you never know. I could just have the sudden urge to write more. Who knows?
This takes place early in season 6, after Home Is Where the Heart Is, which means B&B are in an established relationship. I seem to have grown a sudden affinity for present tense. I just think it makes this story flow a little better. Hope you all enjoy! As always, please, please leave some feedback about anything, whether it's how you like the story or if I've gotten something wrong. Thanks!
Disclaimer: Bones is not mine. Probably never will be mine either.
He's terrified. He can't remember ever being so terrified. His heart is hammering against his ribs, and his breath comes in shaky gasps.
"Come on, Bones," he breathes, adjusting his grip on her so he can take most of her weight. She's staggering along now, only half-conscious, with her left arm slung across his shoulders. He can feel the sickening wetness soaking through her shirt and through his as well where her side touches his. He tries not to think about how much blood she's losing.
He takes a sharp left, and she lets out a cry that jerks him to a stop instantly. "God, Bones," he gasps, shooting a fearful look at her. "You okay? God, I'm sorry. I'll try to walk slower."
"No," she whimpers, one of her hands pressed to the wound in her side. "We need to get out of the building. No delays, Booth."
"We walk any faster, and you'll collapse!" he argues, shifting his hold on her again. He doesn't know what to do. Should he let her down so they can both catch their breaths and so he can take a look at that god-awful wound in her side? Or should they hurry on their way? The gunmen could be anywhere in the building now. He can't decide whether it's better to risk a gunfight with men armed with assault rifles or Bones bleeding out.
Bones bleeding out. Oh God. The mere idea of anything happening to Bones makes him tremble. That's enough to decide him.
"Come on, Bones," he pants, bringing her arm down from his shoulder. As gently as he can manage, he helps her sit down against the wall—well, he pretty much props her up against the wall by himself, since she seems to be losing the ability to control her body. That thought spurs him on, and he hurriedly kneels next to her.
"Bones, I'm gonna take a look at the wound, okay?" he asks her. Even now, he's still hesitant about tearing her shirt open. Of all things to be hesitant about. But he can't force his fingers to move, even though every logical fiber in his body screams at him to stop being such a conservative idiot and to just help her already.
"Yeah, okay," she breathes, her eyes latching onto his. With that, he tears a hole in her shirt and buttons go flying. Any other time, the sight of her bare skin would have had him blushing so hard he'd pass out. But now, he doesn't have time for any of that. He bends over her side, his war-trained eyes examining the wound almost as well as her scientist ones can. He can't tell a single thing about if it's cut into the blah-blah muscle or sliced the something-or-other skin, but he can tell that it's bad. Bad enough for him to be terrified out of his mind.
"You're gonna be okay," he whispers, hurriedly ripping the sleeve off of his dress shirt. "It's gonna be okay."
She doesn't look at him. "The bullet penetrated between the sixth and seventh ribs," she says clinically. "It doesn't seem to have struck any major organs. I can't tell if there's…" She swallows, the first sign that she isn't as calm as she seems. "An exit wound. I can't tell if there's an exit wound."
He hates how she's talking about it as if she's already a body on a stone slab in the morgue. He hates the weakness he can hear so plainly in her voice. He hates that he's the cause of it all.
"I shouldn't have dragged you along," he growls, furious at himself, furious and terrified all at once. "Damn it, I should have known better."
"You couldn't have suspected that there were—" Her breath hisses out in an agonized gasp as he pressed the torn sleeve of his shirt against the wound.
"Sorry," he mutters. "You know I would give my right arm to take all this back." Hell, he'd give anything to save her this pain. And if she…if she maybe doesn't make it…
She opens her mouth to argue with him, no doubt, but when he presses the cloth against the wound again, all she manages is "illogical" in a breathless gasp. He works feverishly over her, knowing the gunmen could be just a couple of hallways behind them, knowing that for every minute he takes trying to patch her up, it's another minute they spend in danger.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Sorry I can't do anything better than this." He gestures to the crude bandage he's fashioned over the wound.
"It's okay." Her voice is faint. "You're not a professional medical doctor. I wouldn't expect any better."
There she is with her usual unintended insult thrown in. It almost makes him smile, but when he looks up to see her eyes closed, a jolt of panic shoots through him.
"Bones?" he asks, trying to keep his voice from rising. "Hey, Bones, come on. Wake up."
"I'm not asleep," she mumbles, but she sure sounds like it. He knows he can't let her slip into unconsciousness. Not when she's hurt that bad.
"Open your eyes then," he says, shaking her shoulder. "Come on, Bones, we've got to move."
She drags her eyelids open, and he can tell that it takes her some effort, which isn't a good sign. They've got to get out of the building. He couldn't care less about the gunmen now; it's Bones he's worried about. If there isn't an ambulance waiting outside like he'd called and ordered, he'll be pissed. Beyond pissed. Downright raging.
With a grunt, he pulls her to her feet, trying to ignore the small whimper she makes when he moves too quickly. He feels tears choke his throat, tears of terror, and forces them back. It won't do anyone any good if I break down, he thinks angrily. Man up, Seeley. Get Bones out of here.
They hurry down the hallway and at the flight of stairs, Booth pauses by a window. In the field below, he can spot the flashing lights of police and ambulances. A small wave of relief rushes through him. If they get out of this building, Bones will be okay. There are dozens of people down there waiting to help. Bones will be okay.
He clings firm to this thought and half-drags her down the stairs to the next floor. Her fingers clutch weakly at his arm, and he tries not to think about how feeble they feel. She's Doctor Temperance Brennan, damn it. She should be strong and fierce and independent. Not leaning heavily on his shoulder with cold, frail fingers and blood running down her side like a goddamn river. The bandage doesn't look like it's helping at all. He wants to curse. He wants to rage and scream. He wants to take up his gun and go back for the bastards that did this to her. Instead, he just grits his teeth and forges on.
"Eleventh floor," he grumbles, helping Bones down the next flight of stairs. "Why the hell was the suspect on the eleventh floor?"
"Because that's where his hospital room is. As a patient, he has no reason and no right to ask for a change in rooms," Bones replies matter-of-factly. Utterly matter-of-factly. He can't get over his amazement at the fact that even half-conscious and bleeding out, she can sound completely logical. Does nothing shake her walls? Does nothing break her to pieces so he can see her un-walled, beautiful heart underneath?
They're on the ninth floor now. Damn it. The first two flights of stairs were tough enough; he doesn't think Bones can take another nine. She's biting her lip to keep in the cries when he moves her, but he can see it. He can see how much this is hurting her, and it makes him want to shoot someone. In the knee, preferably, so it'll hurt like hell.
"Why the hell are the damn elevators down?" he growls, wiping sweat from his brow. "They've got to make this hard for us, don't they?"
"The gunmen cut the power. And I don't think anyone's intentionally making this hard for us," Bones mumbles. Her head lolls alarmingly on his shoulder now, and he prays, prays, prays she'll be okay.
"Bones." He gives her a little shake. "Bones, come on, stay with me, okay? We're gonna get out of here, I promise."
"I seem to be losing a lot of blood," she muses, her eyelids shuttering.
He looks down at her shirt and his, both soaked in blood. No shit, he thinks, swallowing hard. Aloud, he whispers, "You're gonna be okay, Bones. I swear."
She nods drowsily against his shoulder. "Although I know I should stay awake, it's getting admittedly difficult to do so."
"Just keep talking," he tells her. Keep talking so she can stay awake and so his heart won't stop every time she falls silent.
"That would attract the gunmen," she says logically. "We should remain silent."
"Screw the gunmen," he pants, helping her slowly down the next flight of stairs. "I want—need—to hear your voice, Bones." He tries not to let her hear how desperate he is. He needs to be strong now, for her. That's all he can do for her now—well, that and getting her out alive. Which he intends to do, even if it kills him.
"What…should I say?"
His terror ratchets up another level at the way her voice is fading. "Anything," he says quickly. "Anything you want, Bones."
"I don't…know…I can't seem to focus…"
He doesn't want to hurt her—anything but that—but he can't resist shaking her a little. "Come on, Bones, just say something. Anything. For me."
There's a moment of silence in which his stomach drops, and he freezes. Is she…she can't be unconscious? Damn it, she can't be unconscious! He won't let her go, never, so she can't go passing out on him!
He pulls her around quickly and props her up against the wall so he can look in her face. "Bones? Bones, you awake?"
She doesn't answer, and he's choked with sudden fear. What the hell's he supposed to do? They're still eight floors up. The gunmen could be hiding around the next turn in the hallway. Bones is…Bones is nonresponsive. And he can't stop shaking, damn it.
With trembling fingers, he reaches for her throat. There's a pulse, thank God, but it's weak, too weak. For a moment, pure, blinding panic swamps him, and he can't think. Oh God, oh God, oh God…
It isn't FBI training that saves him this time. It's the soldier in him, the one who faced off insurgents in Afghanistan without batting an eye. Booth the soldier shoves the overwhelming emotions of Booth the man back, shoves every distracting thought away. He can't afford any distraction, not now when everything is so critical. With a breath, he lets Booth the soldier take charge.
Like he's put on a pair of sunglasses, he sees everything in a new light. The hospital is the hostile base. Bones is the target. Getting Bones out of the hostile base is the objective. And he is the soldier.
He takes a steadying breath before gathering Bones up in his arms. With some difficulty he manages to sling her over his back, her arms dangling loosely around his neck. It's harder to carry her because she isn't holding on, but he'll manage.
Eighth floor. They're on the eighth floor without the use of the elevators or fire escapes. The stairs are the only option left. Bones is in imminent danger because she was the one Leonard Teel talked to. Now that the gunmen have no doubt silenced the suspect—Leonard—on the eleventh floor, probably shot him to death in his hospital bed, they'll be coming after Bones to make sure the information never gets out. He's got to protect the information and Bones. Especially Bones.
He shakes away the thought. The soldier knows that both are important, but that the information is of greater value. The man in him screams damn the info, damn everything, this is Bones! He shuts the man away with difficulty and focuses on getting down the stairs.
He's halfway down the flight of stairs to the sixth floor when he hears it: the thundering of footsteps on the landing above them. Damn it. He's breathing hard, Bones is unconscious, and he's got one gun against five.
You've faced worse odds, he thinks to himself. You're gonna get out of this. A glance at Bones solidifies his resolve, and he flings open the door to the sixth floor. The hallway is empty and dark, and there's a room diagonally across the hall from the door to the stairwell. Perfect. Thankfully, the door is unlocked. He ducks inside and lays Bones down on a table, giving the bandage a perfunctory check. The wound's still pumping blood, and he swallows his panic. He needs to be calm, and the soldier makes sure he is. With a last look at her, he draws his gun.
The stairwell door bangs open. The first man through doesn't spot Booth, crouching in the doorway of the room, his gun drawn and aimed. Booth's bullet takes him through the throat, and the man staggers back, blood spraying. The men behind him give a cry of alarm and slam the door shut, ignoring their companion's dying gurgles. When they crack it open again, Booth fires off another shot, sending up a shower of sparks as the bullet ricochets against the metal door. It slams shut again and stays closed this time. The gunmen probably won't open the door for some time, afraid that Booth will pick them off as they come through. It's bought him time, precious, precious time. He has to move.
Ducking back into the room, he grabs Bones's arms to lever to onto his back again. His gaze flicks to her face, and he's shocked to find her staring back at him. And just like that, the soldier vanishes, and the emotions he's been holding back overwhelms him.
"Oh, Bones," he breathes, relief making his knees weak. "Thank God. Thank God."
"Booth." Her voice is still weak, but at least she's awake. "What's going on?"
"I'm getting us out of here," he replies, heaving her up. "Come on, get on my back."
She opens her mouth, and a crease appears between her eyes. "I can walk, Booth."
He stares at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Bones, you've been shot. You can hardly keep your eyes open. You've probably got more blood outside your body than in it. And you say you can walk?"
"That's inaccurate," she mumbles, her eyes momentarily catching his. "If I had more blood outside my body than in, I'd be dead. And perhaps I'm mistaken about walking, but…"
"Perhaps?" he snorts. "Come on, we don't have time. Get on my back."
Weakly, she obeys, clasping her hands together around his neck. When she's settled, he opens the door to the room cautiously, scanning the hallway. No one. The body of the man he shot lies alone in front of the door to the stairwell. Even so, he clenches his gun in his hand tightly, ready to take out any threat. Edgily, he starts off down the hallway, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder in fear that someone will sneak up on him. The soldier is back now, and he knows he's got to get out of the building within the next ten minutes. Bones has been steadily bleeding this whole time, and any longer and she'll be a goner. And there is no way in hell he's letting that happen.
There's got to be another entrance to the stairwell on the floor. He knows he shouldn't risk getting trapped in an enclosed area like the stairwell with a bunch of angry gunmen, but there isn't another choice. It's get to the ground floor and out or die.
He wipes stinging sweat from his eyes and tries to think. If he can catch the gunmen unaware, he can take them out. He knows he's a good enough shot, and he knows they're inexperienced. It isn't his shooting skills he's worried about, it's Bones. He can't fight them and protect her at the same time. But he can't just leave her somewhere, go eliminate the threat, and come back. She won't last that long.
He'll just have to make getting her out the priority. Killing the gunmen can wait. He's just got to get Bones to the ambulances, and then he can go back inside and shoot up the bastards.
Taking a shaky breath, he finally finds an alternate entrance to the stairwell. Shifting Bones on his back, he closes his eyes, mutters a quick prayer, and yanks the door open.
He sticks his head through first, hand with the gun leading. Glancing quickly up and down the landings, he's relieved to find that it's empty. It's just him and Bones.
"Booth…" she moans quietly against his shoulder.
"Shh," he whispers. "I know it hurts, but we've got to be quiet, okay, Bones?"
Only silence answers him. He prays it's because she understands him, not because she's unconscious again. He doesn't have time to check. With one last look at the landing above them, he hurries down the stairs, gun leading the way.
Halfway to the third floor, his cell phone rings. It's cuts so piercingly through the silence that Booth swears and nearly fires off a shot. Every sense on alert, he grabs his phone out of his pocket and flips it open.
"Hello?"
"Booth? It's Cullen. Are you still in the hospital?"
"Yes, I'm still in the hospital," he growls angrily. "Where the hell's backup? What the hell am I doing in here alone?"
"Hey, stay calm. Where are you?"
He glances at the placard by the door. "Third floor and counting. Going down."
"Good. Tell us where the shooters are, and we'll—"
Completely business. Like his partner isn't ten minutes away from dying.
"No," he says, suddenly furious. "I won't fucking tell you where the shooters are. Bones has been shot and I gotta get her out of here. Now you let whoever the hell's out there know that I need an ambulance standing by and doctors and medics and whoever the hell can help her. If Bones doesn't get out of this okay, damn it, I'll kill someone and—and—"
His voice breaks. Tears choke him up, and he can't speak anymore. Jerking the phone roughly away from his ear, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers to them. This is no time for tears. He's got to stay strong. For Bones.
"It's going to be okay, Booth," she whispers in his ear. "I'll be fine."
It's the first lie he's ever heard her tell. Even though he's not a doctor of any sort, he knows it's bad, too bad for her to be able to say that she'll be fine. So she's lying. For him.
Goddamn it, why is she the one being strong for him?
Angrily, he pulls the phone up again and snaps, "I'm gonna get Bones out, okay? Just help me."
His boss's voice is soft but firm. "Hold it together, Booth. I know…how much she means to you, okay? It's going to be okay. Just get out of there ASAP, and we'll take it from there."
He takes a shaky breath, knowing he's got no right to be screaming at his boss, knowing that the fear is screwing with his judgment. "Yeah, I know. Sorry for…yeah, I'll get back to you."
He snaps the phone shut and shoves it into his pocket. He uses the soldier the shove back his emotions again. When his eyes are dry, he grips his gun tightly and starts on the stairs. He's going along so intently that he almost misses the sound of a door opening on the landing he's just passed. Almost too late, he spins around and spots one of the shooters stepping out of the door, gun aiming directly for him and Bones.
He throws himself to the side just as a shower of bullets digs into the ground where he'd been standing. Unceremoniously, he dumps Bones to the ground and tightens his grip on his gun. The man is descending the stairs now, his gun leading. He spots Booth on the turn of the stairs and brings up his gun, but Booth is faster. He has years of experience on his side, not to mention the past year spent in Afghanistan. He brings his gun smoothly up, taking perfect aim, and fires. The muzzle spits forward a bullet that catches the shooter in his shoulder, throwing him back on the stairs. The assault rifle clatters to the ground, and Booth rushes forward.
Kicking the gun out of reach, he kneels and grabs the man roughly by the shirt. "Tell me where the others are. Come on, tell me!"
The man's eyes are wide and frightened, but he keeps his mouth stubbornly shut. Furious, Booth takes the muzzle of his gun and puts it to the man's head.
"I got you in the shoulder," he says very calmly, soldierly composed. "It's not fatal, not unless you bleed out, and that won't be for a while. But this—" He taps the man's forehead with the gun. "—this would be fatal. Understand me?"
The man nods, eyes wide, and Booth continues, "So you're going to tell me what I want to know, understand? Or else I'm gonna make sure you don't leave this hospital alive. Now where are the others?"
"W—waiting on the lower floors for you," the man stammers, trembling. "I—I think they're on the ground floor. They just posted me on this floor to ambush you if I could. I'm sorry! Please—please, just don't shoot me. I don't want to die!"
"Maybe you should have thought of that before you came in here and shot my partner," Booth snarls, pressing the gun into the man's forehead so hard it leaves an imprint. He wonders if this guy's the guy who shot Bones. He never got a clear look at the bastard, but does it matter? If he even had a hand in Bones's injury, he's not getting away with it.
Booth's finger tightens on the trigger. He wants to pull it. This guy is responsible for killing the doctor upstairs, a couple of nurses, and the suspect, Leonard. He's responsible for shooting Bones. That alone makes him want to blow the guy's brains out all over the stairs. He wants to so badly he can almost see it in his mind's eye, the muzzle flashing, the blood…
But he doesn't. He's lived too long—worked for justice too long—to even consider revenge. Shooting the guy won't solve any problems. It won't make Bones better. If there's anything he's learned in all his years at the FBI, it's that the government's justice, though imperfect, is always better than a cold-blooded shot to the head.
So he pulls the gun back. The man looks supremely relieved for the half second before Booth hits him hard across the face with the butt of the gun, knocking him out. He'll be out for a while, at least long enough for Booth to get Bones the hell out of there. It's enough.
A quiet groan draws his attention back behind him. It's Bones, he realizes with a start, and wincing, he remembers how roughly he dropped her. Hurriedly, he drops to his knees beside her, ignoring how he's kneeling in her blood.
"Bones?" he asks, one hand behind her neck to raise her head. "Bones, you with me?"
She whimpers. "It hurts."
He sighs quietly and draws her up close to his chest. "I know, baby. It's okay. It's gonna be okay." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, his eyes closed, wishing to God that everything will be all right, that she'll be okay. He just wants to hold her forever, but he's suddenly all too aware of the blood he's kneeling in and where it's coming from. The warm wetness soaking through his pant knees jerks him back into awareness and reality.
"Okay," he says, tearing himself away from her, "I need you to stay awake for me, okay, Bones? We've got to go now."
She just nods, and he helps her get back on his back. Grabbing the assault rifle, he tucks his own gun into its holster and checks the ammo of the shooter's rifle. Almost a full magazine left. More than enough if he runs into the other shooters. With the automatic weapon, it's almost as if he's back in Afghanistan. He sets himself in that mindset and starts down the stairs for the umpteenth time.
There are three of the gunmen lefts, all on the ground floor or at least standing between him and the exit. He can't think of any way to avoid them, but at least he'll be ready for them. Just in case the backup can do something about it, he gives Cullen a curt update, but the snipers posted outside don't have a visual. The backup team isn't being sent in because one of the shooters is holding five hospital workers hostage on the ground floor, out of sight. It looks like Booth is on his own.
Hostages? he wonders. When the hell did that happen?
"Are they coming?" Bones whispers weakly. "The FBI?"
He doesn't have the heart to tell her they're on their own. "Yeah, Bones, they're on their way. Just hang in there, okay?" He wishes he could hold her, but they have to move. After stumbling down another couple of flights of stairs, they make it, finally, to the door marked with a one. Ground floor. At last.
He takes a breath and reaches up to squeeze Bones's hand. "Hey, we're almost there. You still with me?"
"I'm not going anywhere, Booth," she murmurs back. Damn it, she sounds sleepy, like she's drifting off. He's afraid she's going somewhere he can't follow. He wishes he could hear anything in her voice—even pain—because then he'll know she's still alive, that she's still feeling.
He reaches for the door handle, wondering if the shooters are waiting just on the other side. Wondering if he'll be shot. Wondering if, maybe, this is one fight they won't get out of. The thought makes him hesitate.
"Hey, Bones?"
"Hmm?"
He swallows hard. "I love you."
She doesn't speak, but he feels her arms tighten around his neck. She's surprised, he can tell. After a moment, she nods against his shoulder.
"I know," she whispers. "I know, Booth."
It's the most he's going to get. It's always hard to get her to even accept an I love you, let alone reciprocate. For now, her whispers of I know make him happier than an I love you from anyone else. He always figured they'd get around to the I love you's from her later. It's the first time he realizes they might not have the time he always took for granted.
Taking a breath, he cautiously pulls the door open. Instantly, a spray of bullets ricochet off the door, and he slams it shut again, cursing. They've got people guarding the door. Damn it. Damn it. There isn't another way onto the ground floor, is there? He doesn't know. Desperation swamps him, and even the soldier can't hold it back. What the hell's he supposed to do? He can't go out. He can't stay here. But he's got to do something because the woman he loves is probably three minutes away from certain death. He can't stop the wave of terror at the thought of Bones bleeding out on his back.
"We know you're in there!"
He jerks, realizing someone—the shooter—on the other side of the door is calling to him.
"We know you're in there!" the voice repeats. "Just come out with your hands up!"
He snorts. "Like hell!"
"Well, then just give us Doctor Brennan, and we'll let you free!"
Hah! Hah! If it wasn't for Bones draped half-dead over his back, he might have been tempted to laugh. As it is, he just shakes his head grimly and stands without answering them. Let them think he's considering it. Meanwhile, he's got to do something.
"Maybe…the second floor…" Bones suggests weakly.
He smiles. "Just what I was thinking." Shifting his grip on her to make sure she's as comfortable as she can be, he starts back up the stairs as fast as he can go. Legs burning from exhaustion, he throws open the second floor door and rushes down the hallway to the nearest window he can find.
Perfect. A perfect view of the police and ambulances gathering on the lawn below in front of the hospital. Finally, something's gone right.
He pulls out his phone. "Cullen? Yeah, it's Booth. I'm trapped on the second floor, in a southeast corner window. Can you see me?"
It takes a moment before Cullen answers. "Yeah, Booth, our snipers have an eye on you. What do you mean you're trapped?"
"Shooters are on the first floor," he explains. "They're watching the door to the stairwell. Can you get me some help here?"
A moment passes, and Booth hears Cullen faintly shouting questions. And then his boss's voice comes back through the phone. "You're in luck, Booth. We've got a fire truck here with a ladder. You need to break the window and clear out the glass as they're positioning the ladder. Can you do that?"
Can he do that? He's an FBI agent, for Christ's sake. He can do a little thing like breaking a window.
"Yeah," he says curtly, snapping the phone shut. Then, gently, he lays Bones down, making sure she's still conscious.
"We're almost out," he whispers, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "It's gonna be okay."
Then, taking his gun, he shoots the window out. It's the quickest way to break it, even if it's the loudest. The shooters will no doubt be drawn to the noise, but he can't avoid it. Using the butt of the gun, he sweeps away the remaining glass from the frame of the window and leans out. There's the fire truck, getting positioned under the window ledge, the ladder already extending toward him. A fireman heads up their way. Booth doesn't think he's ever seen a more welcome sight.
He turns back. "Bones, come on. Stay with me, okay?" When she nods, he gathers her up in his arms and carries her to the windowsill to wait as the fireman makes his way up the ladder. When the man finally reaches them, Booth gives him a relieved smile.
"Finally," he breathes, smiling. It's like a weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders. He's done the best for her that he can. Now he just has to wait and pray.
Carefully, he hands Bones off to the fireman. She clings momentarily to his shirt, unwilling to let go, but he pries her off, murmuring a soft "I love you" in her ear. The fireman makes his painstaking way back down the ladder, and Booth leans heavily against the windowsill, breathing hard.
She's going to be okay. He chants it in his head, like repeating it will make it real. She's going to be okay.
He clenches his fist and prays.