A/N: Well, hi. That finale kind of ripped my heart out a little bit. No big. Anyway, after it ended, I took the opportunity to break my own heart a little more by writing an alternate ending of sorts, in which I hurt my favorite character. If you can, please be on the lookout for any characterization mistakes, because that's a major weakness of mine. If you find any, I expect you'll let me know. :)

I'm not finished writing this yet, and I expect it to be a three-shot. Oh, and I changed some of the positions in the street-scene, you'll see what I mean. Thanks for reading!


He blinks and it's over. Just like that. They've lost.

Or rather, that is the voice in the back of his head talking. That is the sick feeling of fear talking; and for a moment, he's too shocked to move. But as the adrenaline kicks in, he finds himself automatically wrapping his hands around his gun and aiming for the blonde haired girl on the other side of the street and pulling the trigger without a second thought. She goes down and she stays down. It's not exactly a critical hit, having only popped her shoulder, but it wasn't meant to be. As much as he'd like it to be, he's an FBI agent. The job comes with a clear-cut set of morals.

Not that he particularly wants to follow them right about now.

Not that the girl he just shot has any of her own.

It takes about a second and a half for him to compose himself, and then he's running through the cars again, processing everything that just happened in such a short period of time.

Running through the cars and skidding to a stop on the sidewalk – one minute.

Spotting that girl, carrying her bag that has to have her gun in it – three seconds.

Noticing that Sweets is standing outside of his car, closer to the girl than he is to Booth, and calling his name as loud as he could – two seconds.

Sweets turning to face him, with his back now to that girl, who is now cocking a gun in his direction; and Booth raising his own gun instinctually – two seconds.

Sweets turning back toward the sudden sound of the girl's gun, pulling his own out of its holster, only for the girl to shoot and for that gun to fall to the asphalt beside him – one second.

Booth blinked, and now it has to be over. If the feeling in his gut is anything to go by, it has to be over. And if it's not, then that's as close to a miracle as he's probably going to get.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" he's shouting at few bystanders that have gathered around and are suddenly frantic and wondering what to do. He's not even trying to be polite about it as he shoves his way through the small crowd and kneels down beside Sweets, who's on the ground with his back against his car. Sweets, who's now sporting a bullet hole through the abdomen. Sweets, who's surrounded by a small puddle of his own blood, eyes closed, with even more blood slowly dripping down from his lips.

"Hey, hey, hey," Booth says, lightly slapping his hand against Sweets' cheek. "Come on…"

When there's no response, Booth begins a quick check, running on auto-pilot while still trying his damned best to stay alert. He shoves his first two fingers against Sweets' neck, a quick check for a pulse, which is there. Not exactly the strongest it could be, but still there. Next, he pulls off Sweets' necktie in an attempt to make it easier to breath. Finally, he pushes away the suit jacket and checks the wound. He notes a clean entry, just to the right of his center. He carefully reaches around and presses his hand to Sweets' back, only slightly pleased to find a lack of an exit wound. The bullet, he's guessing, probably went through the stomach and is stuck there, which probably gives him about fifteen minutes or so to find help. In the meantime, blood is dripping down Sweets' front and spreading much faster than Booth would like. He tries his best to press his hand to the wound and apply pressure without forcing more blood out.

All of this – less than thirty seconds.

Now he's turning to the crowd, still crouched down beside his friend, shouting for someone to call an ambulance. He yells out twice before he realizes something. Or, rather, a few things.

First: Phone service is cut off. If anyone has a chance of making a call, it's by payphone. And the payphone he used to call Brennan earlier is at least a block and a half away.

Second: They are surrounded by cars. Even if someone manages to call, it would be far too difficult and would take up far too much time for paramedics to reach them.

Third: There was a car accident further up the road. This is actually a good thing, he realizes. If there's even a small chance of an ambulance being out, it would be up by the crashed cars.

The problem: getting him there. It's not exactly a far walk; however, with a man who is in serious danger of bleeding out, trying to get the two of them there would be both difficult and insanely risky. However, he doesn't exactly have much of a choice at the moment.

So, he gently pulls Sweets' arm up and around the back of his neck and slowly stands. He stops about halfway up, only for a second, as he hears a shocked, pained gasp in his ear.

"Booth –"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Booth says, trying to support Sweets while keeping one hand over the wound. It's not working, and he's suddenly the most grateful man in the world when a stranger from the crowd steps forward and supports Sweets' other side. They stand completely, and there's a small whimper from the man in the center. Booth looks back down at the wound and notices that there's more blood seeping out – just the opposite of what they need.

Booth cusses softly and turns his head to the stranger, whose eyes are full of concern. "We're pulling on it," he says, and then looks back down at Sweets.

"Look, I know it hurts," he explained. "But you gotta help us out, here. Can you try walking with us? I promise, it's not that far."

There's a small, barely visible nod.

"Okay," Booth says, then turns to the third man. "There should be an ambulance up ahead."

The stranger nods and they start walking. To their slight surprise, Sweets manages to take a few steps with them. He makes it about ten feet before his steps are demoted to shuffles, and maybe five more feet before his feet stop moving altogether and Booth and the other man find themselves dragging his feet behind them. They stop walking as soon as they realize.

Booth gently nudges Sweets' shoulder with his own, not wanting to remove his hand from the bullet hole. "Hey, Sweets, come on. Stay with us, here."

When there's no response, Booth tries again. "Sweets?"

Again, nothing. The stranger looks up at Booth. "Shock?" he suggests, voice shaking only slightly.

Booth nods as he takes note of the beads of sweat forming on Sweets' forehead and pauses to check for a pulse again, this time finding it to be far too quick and far too weak.

He forces his face into a stoic expression, determined not to show how scared he really is. And he is scared, because nothing about this situation is even remotely good. Because this is the closest he's actually come in a long time to having someone close to him die. And he'll be damned if it happens today. He'll be damned if it's Sweets.

He thinks back to his last conversation with everyone at the lab and continues walking, carefully trying his best to rouse his friend as he goes.

"Come on, Sweets," he says. "You didn't hear me before, but I made everyone a promise. I promised them you weren't going to die today, and you know how I don't go back on my promises. But I need your help with this one, okay? Just stay with us for a few more minutes, and we'll all be golden."

Booth glances ahead, noticing a few flashing lights in the distance. Looking closer, he notices that there are two paramedics rushing down the sidewalk, in their direction. He figures someone must have flagged them down, and he's relieved. Then he looks back at Sweets, who is far paler now than he was before, and that relief is gone.

"Just a few more steps. We've got you. I promise."


The lab is almost completely silent, as it's been for the past thirty minutes, now. Nobody has heard anything from anyone since Brennan's phone call with Booth, and that lack of communication was honestly scaring them. On one hand, cell service is down. It's entirely possible that, with everything going on, no one had a chance to get to a phone. It's entirely possible that everything is fine. Booth and Sweets could be on their way home right now, with the shooter in custody. They could even walk into the lab at any moment. It's possible.

But then, it's also possible that everything is not fine. They could both be dead. They could be separate, alone, and dead.

Currently, the rest of the team is in Angela's office. The computer command that was sent to the shooter is still blinking on the screen, yet no one is paying any attention to it. Instead, each person is alternating between pacing and sitting on the couch, staring into space.

No one talks about what is happening. No one talks about Pelant. No one talks about Booth and Brennan's engagement. No one even talks about Booth at all, or Sweets.

Somehow, the silence seems to be the loudest thing in the room; and no one has the courage to break it just yet.

So, it comes as no surprise that it's a cell phone ringing that finally makes a sound. Everyone in the room turns to Brennan, whose cell phone is in her hand in a second.

She checks to see who's calling before answering, and she is visibly relieved.

"Booth!"

The group breathes a collective sigh of relief. They're all smiling, arms around each other, and gathering around Brennan, waiting to hear more. However, to their surprise, Brennan's smile slowly falls, and she blinks a few times.

"What?" she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she abruptly stands "I don't…"

"What's going on?" Cam asks, relief suddenly gone. The others are also staring at Brennan, suddenly afraid again.

Brennan moves the phone slightly away from her face and she turns to the others. She hesitates, but forces out the words she doesn't want to say.

"Booth was too late. Sweets was shot."

Everyone is standing now, all worried faces and the need to hear more. The silence is back, and after a minute of Booth relaying everything to Brennan, she hangs up her phone and takes a deep breath.

Everyone is staring, now, and she nods her head minutely.

"The girl shot Sweets just as Booth was raising his gun. Booth shot the girl, but…"

"It was too late. She'd already shot him," Hodgins finishes, hands shaking in fists by his sides. Brennan nods.

"Is he…?" Hodgins continues, unable to finish but making a small gesture with his free hand.

"No. Booth said he was just loaded into an ambulance," Brennan answers with a sad smile. "However, with all of the cars in the streets, it will take longer to get to the nearest hospital."

"So it could go either way," Angela says sadly, eyes dropping to the floor.

The room is silent again, and that's the way it stays for a long while, with unspoken fears and worries hanging in the open spaces.