A/N -- I've been thinking about starting a one shot collection for a while, so here is the first installment. Thanks as always to MickeyBoggs for proofing for me. You are great.
Also, I know MANY of you are waiting on updates for Regaining Her Footing and Relieving the Pressure. They are coming soon, I promise. It's really busy right now trying to get grades finished up. But I have less than 2 weeks of school left. Hopefully, I'll be more productive during the summer months.
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer - Bones belongs to Fox.
Statistically Speaking
What exactly did Brennan do before she told the Squints about Booth's condition in Critic in the Cabernet?
Temperance Brennan, for the first time in her life, wished she could say, "I don't know what that means." The problem was that this wasn't some stupid expression or movie or cartoon character, it was a brain tumor and she did know what it meant. Her friend, her partner, her . . . she didn't know exactly what he was, needed surgery. The surgeons were going to open up the base of his skull and removed a damned tumor that had been affecting his brain for probably close to a year.
'Oh my god,' she thought to herself as she realized the mark on his bones that this surgery would leave. It would be a permanent, non-metaphorical mark on his body. It would be a way his skeleton could be identified by people like her. That scared her. Fear was irrational and she knew it, but it seemed she wasn't in control of her emotions at the moment.
She sat beside Booth's bed in a hard hospital chair, her eyes aimed in the direction of Dr. Jursik, but she was looking right through him. She knew what he was going to say anyway. "You should be fine, Agent Booth. It's routine, and the tumor seems to be unattached and relatively small. In most cases. . ." The doctor's words seemed to trail off to Brennan as she completed the statement on her own.
'Usually no long term effects, usually benign,' she thought to herself. The statistics pointed to usually, but she didn't give a damn about usually. This was Booth, her Booth. Usually wasn't good enough. He was the one solid thing in her life and now he was just a statistic to some. He wasn't just a number in some stupid research paper. He was more than that. He was Booth.
The statistics that said he would be fine didn't reassure her like they should. Statics didn't mean anything to the 10 percent of people that died during the routine surgery or lost part of their coordination abilities because of damage caused during tumor extraction.
Statistics had failed her before and she irrationally feared they would fail her now. Statistically speaking, her parents wouldn't disappear when she was 15 and statistically speaking, she would have family to take her in even if they did. Statistically speaking, as a product of the foster care system in Illinois, she shouldn't have graduated from college. She shouldn't have survived in El Salvador and she shouldn't have gotten the job at the Jeffersonian. Statistics were often wrong; she knew that better than anyone.
She snapped back into reality when Dr. Jursik spoke directly to her. "Do you have any questions, Dr. Brennan?"
'Dammit,' she thought to herself. 'If he noticed I wasn't paying attention, Booth noticed.' She swallowed the lump in her throat and prayed to whatever existed beyond the earth that she could get through this even if she didn't believe that thing existed.
The shaken anthropologist took a deep breath and shook her head. "No, thank you doctor, I understand." With her acknowledgment, the doctor exited the room to give them a few minutes alone before they began to prep the strong, yet weakened FBI agent for surgery.
Brennan was right; Booth did notice the gaze in her eyes. He was an expert at her expressions. He knew this hit too close to home for her. Her expression was empty, confused. It certainly wasn't an expression he was used to seeing on her face. In fact, he'd only seen it one other time almost 3 years ago when he found her staring at the dolphin belt buckle that belonged to her mother. It was an expression he hated to see.
Was he afraid? Sure he was afraid-scared to death to be exact. They were going to crack open his skull to pull the damned tumor out. It was the tumor that had been giving him those wacky dreams. It was the tumor that made him see Teddy. He had so many more questions now. How did he manage to do all those things by himself in the hull of that naval ship? He didn't know. He'd probably never know and frankly, he didn't care. All he cared about were his family-Bones and Parker. They were the only thing that mattered now.
His thoughts raced. At least Parker was at school. He was probably playing on the playground thinking about what kind of ice cream he wanted from the park. He didn't need to know what was going on; he'd call him after it was over. Let him keep his innocence as long as possible. He didn't need to worry about his dad dying.
Rebecca would probably just go crazy if he told her now anyway. He'd learned that it was best to tell her after the crisis was solved. She was a good woman, a good mother, but she over-reacted. He'd call her when he woke up. He would wake up, he was sure of that.
Bones, on the other hand, she knew what was going on. It was real to her, all too real. He couldn't imagine the thoughts that were going through her always sharp mind. She was afraid and he knew it. She was biting her bottom lip and squinting into mid-air. He had to help calm some of her fears. "Bones," he spoke softly. "You know, I'm going to be fine, right?" he said with certainty. "I'm strong, I can handle this."
Brennan took his words in and did her best not to let the tears fall. She knew he could handle it. He was Booth. He was strong; he had his faith. The problem was that she didn't know if she could handle it. Not again, not after last year.
It was almost exactly one year ago that she thought she lost him. She compartmentalized, sure. She'd managed to exist, if existing consisted of throwing up everything she put in her mouth, not sleeping, and not being able to take a full breath for two weeks, then yeah, she existed.
She experienced two weeks without Booth and she didn't like it. She knew it was illogical to be so dependent upon another individual that she couldn't live her life in typical fashion without them, but at some point it happened. She couldn't avoid it and couldn't deny it-not completely anyway.
She looked into Booth's eyes as her thoughts raced. She knew he had to be scared, but he was more concerned for those around him than himself. She took a deep breath and decided to talk to him. "I know, Booth," she said and had to clear her throat from all the emotions building up there. "Sure, statistically speaking, you'll be fine," she said and returned to her thoughts. 'That's it Temperance, keep it clinical and you can compartmentalize. Don't think about this as Booth, make him a statistic. It won't be real that way,' she thought as she took another long cleansing breath. The breath didn't help. She couldn't make Booth a statistic, she couldn't do that to him.
She needed to get out of there, she needed some space. If she kept looking at his eyes, she'd crack and she knew it. "I need to go tell the others what the doctor said. I'll be back." She was partially telling the truth. She did need to tell them, but she needed a minute. She needed to regroup.
The tears were burning the back of her eyelids as she stood to leave. She was thankful that her back was to him when he asked, "You're coming back, right?" Those four words did it. The levees began to falter and the tears began to flow. Thankfully, they were falling slowly at that moment.
She gave him a nod without turning to look at him and walked out of the room toward a bathroom, if she could find one. She hoped he noticed her nod, but she just couldn't look at him, she couldn't face him-not now, not while she was so scattered. She needed some time, needed to collect her thoughts, compartmentalize, and go tell the others in time to see him again before surgery.
The hallway seemed endlessly long. Her heels clicked with every step. Her heart raced, and she struggled to find her way to the closest restroom. As she passed another nurses station, she could see the corner around which the waiting room could be found. That scared her; she couldn't let the others see her like this. It wouldn't help anything and would probably make Angela break down. She couldn't face them, not now, not until she was stronger.
She let out a sigh when she finally found a restroom just before she rounded the corner. Thankful it was a small bathroom with no stalls; she darted in, locked the door and slid down onto the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Under typical circumstances, she would tell herself that she was being irrational. There was no reason to take such a protective position right now, she was in no physical danger, but again it seemed she wasn't completely in control of her emotions at the moment.
Immediately, the dam that had been keeping some tears at bay broke. She couldn't stop it. Tear after tear rolled down her porcelain cheeks. She wasn't thinking, just crying. A few minutes passed and she managed to slow her breathing slightly, tears still falling, but breathing was a good thing.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, thoughts began to flow in her mind. At first her thoughts were focused on the negative. 'I can't handle losing him again,' she thought. 'He and Angela are the only constants I've ever known and even Angela doesn't understand me sometimes.' Her self-absorbed pity party lasted a few minutes. It was similar to the first night she spent as a ward of the state when Russ left. She wallowed in sorrow.
Thankfully, though, she didn't spend an entire night crying and wallowing this time. After just a few minutes, she pulled it together. 'Come on Temperance,' she told herself. 'Crying doesn't help anything, it's irrational. This is not about me.' That was the thought that made her snap out of her reverie.
It wasn't about her. It was about Booth. If he had taught her anything over their three and a half year partnership, it was that partners shared things. Partners depended on each other. Right now, he was sitting in a hospital bed getting stuck by needles and she was in a bathroom crying like a baby. 'Compartmentalize this, Temperance. Statistically speaking he will be fine. Think about the statistics so you can be there for him. This is happening in his head not mine. He needs me. This isn't about me.'
She pushed herself up and off the floor repeating to herself, 'This isn't about me, it's about Booth. Be there for him.'
She stood over the sink and splashed some water over her face. It was still hot from all the tears she shed and the cool water stopped some of the burning in her eyes. Looking in the mirror, she saw her red-rimmed eyes. The temptation to run was there, but she realized she was stronger than that. She could compartmentalize this. She could do this for Booth.
She did her best to look composed, even though she wished she was in her office so she could reapply some makeup, but she'd get over that. She let out a sigh. 'At least it's waterproof mascara,' she laughed slightly at the Angela-like thought.
Glancing at her watch, she realized she had been gone from Booth for 20 minutes. 'Time to face the song, Temperance,' she thought to herself, not even concerned as to whether or not she used the expression correctly.
She patted her face dry with a few paper towels and let out another audible sigh. It was time, the others deserved to know the truth, and Booth deserved not to be alone.
She unlocked the bathroom door and walked out. She knew the others, especially Angela, would notice her lack of composure and red eyes, but she had to keep reminding herself of two things – this wasn't about her and statistically speaking, he should be fine. She could get through this if she would just remember those two things. 'Compartmentalize your feelings - remember those things, Temperance,' she thought to herself as she rounded the corner and stepped into the waiting room to inform her loved ones about her partner.