The Only Moment We Were Alone
1. First Breath After A Coma
She's holding her head, shutting tightly her eyes and trying not to think about anything. She's too tired to think today.
A noise makes her jump.
She shudders, afraid and cold at the same time, and curls herself like a cat on her not-so-comfy couch.
She hasn't still allowed herself to let the cold mask she carried around on her face all day fall. She knows that when she finally fall on her unmade bed at home, she'll start crying, she'll grasp the sheet in her hands and hold tightly while choking her sobs onto the pillow. She doesn't know how much time will pass, she knows that after a while, with her head pounding and wet cheeks, she'll be asleep.
That's why she's still at the lab, with tight clothes on and a light quilt around the shoulders.
It was a door slamming hard that made her shiver before. She hears footsteps and someone coming in without knocking.
"Bones," she hears whispering.
She only can see his shoes from where she rests; he's wearing those sneakers that all teenagers have and she thinks he looks ridiculous wearing them with black pantsuit.
He keeps looking at her, his eyes boring into her skull, and she keeps looking at his feet, and when he sits next to her, they still haven't said a word.
She's glad he's not asking her anything, forcing her to talk – something she always hated and that makes her think of foster parents and sessions to the school's psychologist.
"I don't want to go home." She's more surprised than him when she hears herself speak.
She forces herself to turn around and meet his look and she only see tiredness and understanding in those dark eyes.
He nods, "Okay," and then, "come with me."
She raises her eyebrow, genuinely confused.
"I'm not leaving you here."
He waits while she put on her shoes and fixes her hair behind her ears, and then he offers his hand to help her standing.
Their cars are the few ones left in the Jeffersonian parking lot.
It's when they split up to sit on Booth SUV that she realizes that while walking her hand stayed in his.
The ride to the apartment is quiet, the radio on a station that plays tunes from the eighties. Brennan lets the music soothes her, and watches the cars flash before her eyes