Yes well this has been a long time coming...*sigh* i feel like i never have any time to write any more. poor excuse, i know, but i promise you it is legitimate
But do please enjoy the third and final installment of my torturing of Booth- for the benefit of our inner romantics, i assure you :)
Brennan stood, her arms hugging around her waist, and her lip pinched between anxious teeth as she observed the doctor working. Her hair had tumbled into a maelstrom of tangled curls, and her intricate makeup had begun to smudge, but her appearance was the furthest thought from her mind. Her eyes were trained on the bed with unwavering concentration, but the ornate drapery surrounding it was obscuring her vision.
The bed was elaborate as they were currently in one of the spare rooms of Kirilly Lodge, the large mansion that was to house that night's ball, and the place they had relocated to after the incident. The driver of the carriage, Horace, once he had realised what the commotion around his passengers was caused by, had spurred his horses up the drive. The horses, however, were spooked by the loud noises and panicking people refused to move more than a few frantic paces, prompting Horace to leap from his seat and heave Booth's body from the floor of the carriage and carry his staggering form up the pebbled path. His feet had slipped across the unsteady surface, but adrenalin fuelled strength within him that he barely knew he possessed, and somehow they reached the impossibly large wooden front door.
Stunned silence had filled the marble ballroom when a carriage driver and gowned dinner guest had stumbled inside, half dragging the body of an unconscious and copiously bleeding man between them. There was a moment of complete silence, when every eye in the room stared in utter shock at the scene before them. Then a glass was dropped, crystal shattering, the tinkling cacophonously breaking the silence. An uproar of voices had filled the room. Men dashed forward to help shoulder the weight of the horrifically injured man, throwing their dinner jackets aside as they ran. A woman in towering heels ran past, somehow keeping upright despite her speed. She had barely pulled the heavy doors open when another man skidded into the marble ballroom. The lady grabbed his hand and pulled him over to where Booth was being supported by three of the other guests, whom he quickly instructed the men to carry the body out into the hall. As the whining of the ambulance siren could be faintly heard in the distance, Booth was swiftly swept from the room. Brennan was half a step behind him, her heartbroken gaze trailing around the room, searching for some comfort she knew that she would never find. Seeing the horrified, sickened or, most shatteringly, sympathetic faces of the unfamiliar guests of the ball was sufficient to break down any of the hope that Brennan had left in her slowly shattering heart, and she quickly stepped from the room. She tripped and stumbled hastily after the procession of dinner guests down a long, regal passageway, before the authoritative man directed her into one of the adjacent bedrooms.
Booth had been laid down upon the plain white sheets that covered an antique bed frame to protect it from dust, the starched material highlighting his pale countenance. Brennan stood in the doorway, her face aghast, her hand hovering in front of her mouth, trembling with adrenalin and fear. She watched, trying desperately to compartmentalise, to separate herself from the situation and prevent the pain from overwhelming her. She gulped down breaths of air as they removed his dinner jacket, and tore open his shirt. Slowly she moved further into the room, settling against an ornate dresser directly opposite the bed. Her eyes were trained upon the body on the bed, but she remained still, as though she were a part of the carvings in the deep mahogany woodwork. Moments later three men garbed in pale green scrubs burst through the doorway, led by one of the tuxedoed guests. Two of the paramedics sped to Booth's side, while a third spoke in a solemn undertone to the authoritative man who had led them to the room. Moments later, the others in the room began to leave. Brennan stayed deftly where she was. The doctors gave her one glance, saw the cool determination on her face, and the solitary pearlescent tear resting upon her cheek, and they knew that she was not going to be moved.
So she had stayed, her arms wrapped around her waist, as the medics had clinically carried out their tasks. They worked in silence, with the one exception being a discussion on whether or not to move Booth to a hospital. It was decided against, for at least the next few hours, as he was stable but fragile, and their work was able to be done to a satisfactory degree from where they were. Several trips were made between the room and their ambulance, to supply the doctors with what they needed to complete their work.
The minutes trickled by with painful lethargy, the medical procedures seeming to take eons to be completed. It was over two hours later when they finally began to step away from Booth's prone body. One by one they gathered the tools of their trade, and silently left the room. The last doctor to leave was the most senior among the men, and paused beside Brennan before he stepped from the room.
'There is nothing more we can do here. Mr Booth needs rest; once he has regained some strength and stabilised a little more, we shall take him to the nearest hospital for further treatment.' The man looked grave but satisfied, and with a solitary nod he also left the room, pulling the ornate door closed behind him.
Brennan slowly turned her eyes down to her partner across the room, taking a tentative step closer. But then she saw his head turn, his weak gaze connect with hers, and suddenly she was running across the short distance between them. She carefully, ever so carefully, clambered onto the bed beside him, waves of chiffon swirling across her legs as she allowed Booth to wrap his good arm around her to pull her close. A stifled sob escaped from between her lips as she ran her hands across his face, his chest; she was desperate for contact to prove that he was truly okay.
'I'm so sorry,' she choked in hushed tones, 'I thought I was going to lose you.' Her head bowed against his shoulder. He gently rubbed his hand up and down her trembling back.
'I don't think he was a very good shot.' His intention was joking, but his voice was weak and raspy. Brennan shook her head, torn with relief and anger and confusion.
'Why did you do it? You're so stupid, why did you do it?' Booth tilted his head and pressed a kiss against Brennan's temple.
'I had two very good reasons. First, I am replaceable and you are not.' Brennan's blue eyes brimmed with horror, and pressed her hand against his strong jaw.
'You are not replaceable to me…' she murmured, staring with shining, wide eyes down upon the man before her. He gave a tiny smile, pushing a loose ringlet behind her ear before continuing.
'Second, you are the only Bones I've got, or ever will have.' He took a deep sigh, before returning her searching gaze with determined fervour.
'You are my whole existence and…and I will love you until my last breath.' The hands that Brennan had been subconsciously tracing across Booth's chest froze in place, her lips slightly parted from shock. A tear which had been welling in the corner of her eye suddenly spilled over, dripping from her cheek onto Booth's. Booth stayed perfectly still, feeling the shock rolling off the woman beside him in waves, and not wanting to spook her any further.
She stayed still for a long time, and Booth could practically hear her mind whirring as she tried to compartmentalise this concept that was so very unable to be contained within one of the neat facets of her mind. And still he waited. He ignored the ache trying to consume his body and mind, ignored the burn in his shoulder as the anaesthetic began to lose some of its potency. And then she moved. Slowly, very slowly, her rigid form relaxed. She melted down against his substantial chest, and Booth gave an audible sigh of relief. He pressed another kiss into her hair, a small smile relaxing his pain-ridden features.
He had never been one to believe the deathbed-inspired epiphanies, priding himself on living the life he wanted rather than holding things off. But with this one, unexpected threat to his life he had realised that his life philosophy had one gaping omission. Used to have one, he corrected himself with another small smile, as he gazed down at the pale face of his distressed partner. Allowing the drowsiness nagging at his mind to consume him, Booth drooped further into the pillows. He could feel Brennan curling up more comfortably beside him, and almost chuckled when he felt her skim a hand across his forehead and down his cheek. But then he felt her lips gently brush against his jaw, and felt her lower her head to his shoulder, and was overcome with a feeling of wellbeing unlike any he had felt before. So, with these warm feelings of contentment soothing his aching and pains, Booth slowly drifted into sleep, finally happy with his arm around his irreplaceable Bones.
as i mentioned early on in this story, this was based from a few scenes of a lovely movie i've watched...and if you haven't guessed by now, it was 'The Young Victoria' with Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend
i'd highly recommend this movie to anyone, its quite well done, just a bit of a period romance for you if youre into that kind of thing :)
Thankyou very much for reading!
