One, Two, Three..One, Two, Three..
Paramedics burst into the room, and the scene before them was shocking even to the most experienced and senior worker.
She knelt beside him, administering CPR frantically. She was coated in blood, and sweat, and tears. She looked, in all descriptive terms, broken. She was grasping to his life, trying to hold on although they could already tell that he was desperately trying to let go.
There was a large amount of blood pooled beneath him, too much blood. From the looks of it, about two or three liters. Without even inspecting him yet, they knew exactly what had happened. His heart had already struggled to continue circulating the three, maybe four liters of blood he had left. It had beat hard and fast trying so hard to distribute enough blood to disperse oxygen to his body. They could tell it had failed by the color of his skin. It now hardly beat at all, irregular, quiet, slow. They saw this in the limpness of his limbs. His closed eyes, his relaxed face. He laid all too still and quiet on the ground. Blood had stopped seeping out from his wounds at a drastic speed, and this was a bad sign.
A few feet away was another body, clearly deceased and horrifying in appearance. Half of his face was demolished, a gun fallen to the floor beside him. Scenarios on what could have happened began to race through the medic's mind.
"Don't just fucking stand there, do something!" She yelled in their direction, quickly returning her concentration back to her partner.
"one, two, three... one two three.."
Her CPR methods were accurate, but the paramedics figured they were too late, it was all for nothing.
"Back away," one said, gently giving her a nudge to take over the procedure so the other could examine the body.
"No!" She yelled, fighting them to stay close, "One, two, three.. One, two.."
"If you do not back away, he doesn't have any chance at all! We have to get him out of here!"
She slowly crept backwards, still on her knees, dragging handprints of blood across the carpet with her, never taking her eyes off of him.
They worked quickly, muttering medical jargon to each other that in any other context she would have understood perfectly. But right now, in this situation, her mind was off. She felt a sadness she didn't know possible. She felt as if she was dying herself. She couldn't deal with this. She couldn't go through this again.
She thought about the regrets she held. She thought about how much she loved him, and how idiotic it was that it only took him moving on or him dying to fully realize it.
He was her partner,
her better half.
Her best friend.
She thought about all the moments they were never going to have. The arguments that wouldn't take place between them, the drinks that they wouldn't meet up for, the cases they wouldn't solve. The dances they wouldn't have, the laughs they wouldn't share. Her eyes watered at this. And Parker, sweet Parker. He was just a boy, and she had been there. She had lost her parents before.
She cried softly for him, her emotions overpowering her momentarily as her world came back into focus when Booth was being wheeled out, one paramedic holding an IV suspended in the air by his head.
"Are you coming? We cannot wait. He needs treatment immediately, there is only one exit wound."
"What?" She frowned, the entire situation replaying over and over in her mind. She looked over to where Edwards had been lying, they had covered his body in a sheet. It oddly made her feel slightly better, as if it didn't really happen.
"We have to go! Right now!"
The other paramedic listened closely to Booth's face, "unequal breath sounds, his left lung has collapsed! Lets move!"
And with that they were gone, her door was left ajar and seconds later she heard the sirens drift away into the distance.
She sat still for a few minutes, considering life and death. Considering Booth's faith.
His God would make sure he was okay. He was a good man. He would save him.
He has to save him. He has to be saved. He has to live. I cannot do this. I hate him for this. How can he do this to me.
It should be me.
I should be dead.
I should be dead.
He risked everything, he will loose everything, because of me.
How do I move on with this? How do I live after this. How do I live without him..
Some time had passed, and she called Angela, not knowing what else to do in the late hour.
"H..Hello?" Angela answered groggily, after the fourth ring, but to no response.
"Bren?"
A quick intake of breath on the other end of the connection, "What is wrong?" She sat up in bed now, scared, nudging her husband awake.
"I need you to come over. Call Sweets and the police." The doctor finally said, before hanging up.
xxx
