A/N: I should probably have added this disclaimer sooner: I have no medical background whatsoever, and even though I try to do my research, I can't guarantee that the medical stuff in this story is 100% accurate. I hope I'm allowed a little artistic license given that people can canonically get into fistfights two weeks after being shot in the chest in the Bones universe ;-)

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The overwhelming smell of antiseptics tells Booth what he's going to see before he even opens his eyes. It's already dark outside, and the hospital room is dimly lit by the yellowish glow of a small lamp behind his bed. The shadows paint sharp lines on Bones' tired face, which makes her look much older than she is.

It shouldn't hurt so much to see her like this – he has just seen her glowing and vibrant with the new life she's carrying, and he knows that this can't be anything but a strangely persistent nightmare, but it feels so real, so completely unlike any dream he has ever had in his life, that he can't help the nagging doubts that are creeping in. His brain clearly isn't working as it should right now, so perhaps it was just a moment of confusion that made him see an old fling in his doctor and an ex-girlfriend in a random nurse, that made him mix up images from his earlier nightmares with the current reality? Bones is still holding his hand, and there can be no doubt that it's her, the woman he knows and loves, and not some dream image that his abused brain has cooked up, no matter how much she has changed from the woman in those memories his mind keeps taking him back to.

Her drawn face breaks into a tentative smile when she realizes that his eyes are focused on hers. "Can you hear me?"

Booth just nods; his mouth is bone-dry again, and his throat is still raw from the few words he said to the doctor before.

"Would you like something to drink? Your doctor told me it should be okay."

He nods again – the prospect of a sip of water seems like a gift from heaven, and he's so focused on it that he doesn't even mind Bones holding a sippy cup to his lips and steadying the back of his head with her free hand as if he were a small child. She's careful to allow him only tiny sips, and the first mouthful almost makes him choke, but it gets easier to swallow after that. He's shaking with exhaustion by the time the cup is empty, but he still feels a hundred times better now that the inside of his mouth no longer seems made of leather.

Bones smiles again as she lowers the cup. "Better?"

"Yeah." The raspy voice still doesn't sound like his own, but at least it doesn't hurt much to talk any more, and he realizes that this may be his chance to finally get some answers.

"Bones… what happened?"

She hesitates so visibly that it makes his stomach clench with anxiety – whatever she doesn't want to tell him, it must be bad.

"Booth, you just regained consciousness, I think it would be wise to wait until…"

"No." His fingers inch across the blanket until they find her hand again. "Tell me."

She gives him a strange look, but then she squares her shoulders and nods briskly. "Very well. Do you remember that you had a brain tumor?"

Oh fuck. So you can grow a new tumor in four weeks.

Booth curses himself for being such an idiot. He should have recognized the signs instead of trying to ignore them, should have told her the truth instead of hiding it from her just because he couldn't admit even to himself that he was having hallucinations again. He's been through the same thing before, after all, he should have known.

It takes him a while to realize that Bones is waiting for an answer, so he just nods again; there isn't anything he can say.

"The tumor was successfully removed, but you had an adverse reaction to the anesthetics that were used during the operation, and it caused you to slip into a coma."

Booth wishes she would get to the point already; he knows his own medical history, and he doesn't need her to rehash it for him. "I know." He squeezes her hand and adds, because he wants her to understand that there's nothing wrong with his memory, "You wrote a book."

Her face loses the last bit of color at his words, and her wide-eyed stare makes the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. His heartbeat is suddenly overly loud in his own ears, and he's dimly aware of the accelerating beeps from the monitor by his bedside. He wants her to keep talking, but she just stares at him until he can't take the silence any longer.

"Bones, what… what's wrong?"

"You – how do you… never mind." He can see how she's struggling for composure, and she's squeezing his hand so tightly that it borders on painful. She sounds calmer when she continues, but the slight tremble in her voice tells him it's not without effort.

"You started having seizures, which affected your brain's oxygen supply, and you…"

Booth listens with growing bewilderment, but her words sound slurred, and they're beginning to run together until he can only distinguish a few snippets of what she's saying.

ICU… on a ventilator… minimally conscious… several weeks…

He tries to concentrate harder, to make sense of the things she's telling him, but they're drowned out by the hammering of his own heartbeat until, at last, a soft, drowsy voice cuts through the din.

"What's the matter?"

Booth takes a deep breath and feels his racing pulse beginning to slow down. The darkness that surrounds him feels warm and safe; he's in his bed, their bed, and the faint kick against his forearm tells him Bones isn't the only one he just woke up.

"Nothing." He tightens his arm around her belly and presses a kiss on her temple, gratefully inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

"…kay…"

She's out like a light a second later, but Booth keeps his eyes open and tries to stay awake as long as possible.

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When he wakes up, it's with a feeling of profound disorientation. He's in a hospital room that looks somewhat familiar, but he can't for the life of him remember how he got here. Booth is dimly aware that something pretty serious happened to him, but he's hazy on the details – something with his brain? It would explain why he's feeling like he got run over by a truck, but can't pinpoint any specific sources of pain – he's been shot, stabbed, burned, and beaten before, so he's familiar with the pain associated with all kinds of injuries, but right now he's just aching all over.

He's alone in the room, and from the faint light filtering through the blinds he estimates that it's very early in the morning, so it probably will be some time until anyone shows up to tell him what's going on. He isn't overly worried about that at the moment; he somehow knows with absolute certainty that Bones will be back later to check on him, and he's sure she'll have all the details he could possibly want. He just hopes she won't feel obliged to get up at the crack of dawn for his sake; him being in the hospital must be hard enough on her, and stress isn't good for the baby.

With nothing else to do at the moment, Booth takes stock of his situation. The room looks like every hospital room he's ever been in, although he isn't familiar with most of the machines he's hooked up to; aside from the usual little clothespin thingie on his finger, he also detects a small plastic tube sticking out just above his collarbone.

He shifts a little and winces, both at the dull pain the movement causes and at the realization that he must be in pretty bad shape because he's not only catheterized, but also wearing plastic under his hospital gown. Waking up in hospital diapers is not a new experience for him, but he figures it's one of those things you don't ever get used to. He still can't detect any injuries, but he's shocked by how spindly his arms look, and how much muscle mass he seems to have lost in general. It would explain why every move makes him feel like he's got lead weights tied to his limbs, but it also makes him wonder with mounting dread how long he's been here already. Booth is suddenly anxious for Bones to come back; he hates this helpless feeling of having no clue what's going on, and she'll not only be able to tell him why he's here, she'll also know why he can't remember any of it.

The person walking through the door a while later isn't Bones, though – she's a nurse, fifty-ish, slightly overweight and with an air of motherliness about her. She cheerfully bids him a good morning, sticks a thermometer in his mouth while she checks the readings on several monitors, and then tells him it's time to get him cleaned up.

Booth keeps his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling and falls back on the detachment technique he learned after his ill-fated tour in Iraq, when he couldn't leave his hospital bed for several weeks; this part will never stop being humiliating, but trying to separate his mind from what's happening to his body eases the sting of it somewhat. The nurse is quick and efficient, and she keeps up her cheery prattle about everything from today's weather forecast to last night's talk shows until she's done. As soon as Booth has his blanket safely pulled up to his chest again, she pushes the button that raises the head of his bed and informs him brightly that he's in for a special treat for breakfast; a few minutes later she's back with a pudding cup.

Booth eyes her suspiciously. "I'm getting pudding for breakfast?"

"Dr. Brennan requested it specifically, but you sound like you could use something to drink first."

His mouth is indeed uncomfortably dry, and he figures it's the reason why his throat feels so sore when he's talking, but he balks when the nurse brings a cup with a straw and holds it to his lips.

"I can hold it myself."

"I'm sure you can, but how about we hold it together for now, hm?" The patronizing tone grates on his nerves, and the fact that he quickly discovers he does indeed have trouble holding the cup does nothing to ease his irritation. She admonishes him to take small sips, and Booth is tempted to drink down the entire contents of the cup in one go out of spite, but swallowing turns out to be pretty unpleasant, so he figures she has a point. He puts up some resistance when she insists on spoon-feeding him the pudding, but she'll have none of it, and Booth eventually gives in because he learned the hard way that you don't piss off the people who have you at their mercy as long as you need help with wiping your ass.

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To Booth's disappointment, his next visitor still isn't Bones; this one's a young, round-faced brunette with dimples in her cheeks and a smile that looks a lot less fake than the nurse's. She's not wearing scrubs, which makes for a welcome change, and Booth can't help the nagging feeling that he knows her, although he can't remember where he could possibly have met her.

"Hi." She drops the bag she was carrying on the floor by his bedside. "It's nice to meet you at last. I'm Genevieve –"

"Shaw." Booth has no idea where it came from, but he knew her name as soon as she started speaking.

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it. "That's right, but you can call me Genny."

"You're not a doctor."

"No, I'm your coma worker." At Booth's frown, she adds, "I work with patients in withdrawn states of consciousness because they often have a certain level of awareness, and sometimes they can learn to communicate." It sounds like something she has recited a million times. "Now that you're awake, you don't need me for that any longer, but I'm also a trained physiotherapist, so I'm going to keep working with you during your recovery."

Coma. The word triggers memories – didn't Bones talk about it just a short while ago? He already knew that he must have been out for quite a while, so this explains a few things. Still...

"Will I recover? I mean... completely?" He doesn't bother asking what happened; he'll get all the details as soon Bones comes back, but this can't wait. His heart is in his throat, but he needs to hear the truth – better to know right away what odds he is facing.

Her expression gives nothing away. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you at this point. I'm not evading your question – it's too soon to tell, and your doctors will probably be able to give you a clearer answer after the first round of tests."

He appreciates the honesty, but his disappointment must show on his face, because she gives him an encouraging smile. "The fact that you woke up is the best sign there is, so we're going to take things from there. One step at a time, okay?"

"Okay." He doesn't like it, but there's nothing he can do at the moment but focus on the present. "So what happens now?"

"That's up to you. What's the first goal you'd like to achieve?"

Booth rolls his eyes; that one's a no-brainer. "Using the bathroom without help."

She nods. "Then we'll begin working towards that. We usually have our therapy sessions in the morning, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to keep it that way."

Booth shrugs; it's not like he has any other pressing appointments. "Sure."

"Great. Dr. Brennan usually comes in around noon, but I'm sure she'll be earlier now that you're conscious, so we better make sure we're done before she's here."

"Why?" It doesn't make sense – he'd have expected Bones to insist on overseeing every step of his treatment.

"Dr. Brennan assumed that her presence during therapy would be embarrassing for you. I kept her informed about your progress since she's your medical proxy, but she's never here during our sessions."

"But... if I was in a coma, how could it be embarrassing?" The whole thing is strange – he and Bones have been living together for months, so why did she think he'd mind her being present for this?

Genny smiles. "You knew my name, didn't you?"

Booth isn't sure what to make of that. "We've never met before... this?"

"Nope." Noticing his bewildered expression, she adds, "Look, Seeley – can I call you Seeley?" Booth just nods, and she continues, "I know everything is confusing right now. Your brain has been through a lot, and it needs time to re-adjust. We still know very little about what goes on in a person's mind while they're in a coma, so much of what we're doing here is trial and error. Just don't give up, okay?"

"Okay." That, at least, is a promise he can safely make – he's got too much to lose to stop fighting for it. He was finally living the life he always wanted, and he wants it back. "But I still don't get how you can look familiar to me."

"You went through several phases of minimal consciousness, during which you had your eyes open and reacted to outward stimuli. It's not surprising that you know me, but it's encouraging that you remember." She smiles again, and there's a hint of admiration to it that gives him an eerie flash of déjà vu. "Dr. Brennan wasn't exaggerating – you're one hell of a fighter, Seeley."

Booth winces at the use of his first name, and then asks himself why on earth he told her she could call him by it. He has hated the name since his childhood, how could he possibly have forgotten that? Then again, at least she's not calling him Sir any more.

...wait. Booth shakes his head, as if that could clear the fuzzy images whirling in his mind. He has seen her before, but it wasn't like this – she was somebody else entirely...

"Everything okay?" She doesn't sound worried, merely a little curious, but Booth has no idea how to explain to her what's going on.

"I remember you, but..." He desperately searches for a way to explain that doesn't make her think he has lost it completely. "You were different."

"Different how?" She still doesn't seem alarmed, and he has no idea whether that's a good sign or not. When he doesn't answer, she adds gently, "Look, I may not be a doctor, but patient confidentiality still applies, so you there's nothing you can't tell me. Not even Dr. Brennan will hear of it now that you no longer need her to make decisions for you."

It's something, but it's not enough. "It's pretty weird."

She smiles again. "Weird is a given in my line of work. Trust me, I've heard it all. So – I was different how?"

"You..." Booth hesitates, but then presses on. "You were an FBI agent."

"Cool!" She seems genuinely excited about the idea. "With a gun and a badge, and everything?"

Despite himself, Booth has to laugh at her eagerness. What is it with squints and guns? "Yeah, the whole shebang."

She grins at that, and somehow it makes him feel better about the entire thing. "Seeley, since you are an FBI agent, it's not surprising at all that you would insert your impression of me into a scenario that was familiar to you."

"At least I still remember being an FBI agent this time." He meant it as a joke, but Genny cocks her head to the side as if he'd said something meaningful.

"This time? You were in a coma before?"

Booth is surprised she doesn't know, considering that Bones probably gave her his medical history all the way back to Pops' great-grandparents. Or is this a test of some kind? "Yeah, and I woke up thinking that I was a night club owner."

"Interesting." She ponders for a moment, but then she claps her hands and folds back his blanket. "Okay, let's get started, shall we?"

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By the time Genny bids him good-bye, Booth is not only weary to the bone, but also massively frustrated. She wouldn't even hear of letting him get out of bed; hell, he wasn't even allowed to put his feet on the floor. All he got to do was move around in bed a little, and the worst of it was that she was clearly right about going slowly because he feels like he just ran a marathon. He slumps back into the pillows as soon as Genny is out the door, and he's about to doze off when he hears another set of footsteps approaching.

Bones, finally.

However, the woman he sees when he opens his eyes is a nurse, younger and much prettier than the first one, with bright blue eyes and long blond hair that is tied back in a ponytail.

Booth feels like the room just tilted to the side, so that everything is slightly off center. Something is wrong here, but he can't tell what it is, he just knows that this is not how things are supposed to be, and that it's somehow connected to...

"Hannah?"

He has no idea what made him call her that; he has no memory of her, he just knows that he knows her, with a certainty that is much stronger than what he felt when he first saw Genny.

She stops in her tracks and gives him a surprised smile, and that smile – impish with just a hint of flirtatiousness – heightens the nervous flutter in his stomach. "That's right! How did you know?"

Booth doesn't have an answer to that, but she's not waiting for one anyway. "I'll just give you the second part of your breakfast; Dr. Bryar wants you to eat normally as soon as possible, but in the beginning we're going to help you along a bit with IV nutrition."

She hooks up the IV bag she brought and then steps closer to the bed. Booth flinches when she reaches towards him, and she holds up her hand in a placating gesture.

"No needles, I promise – I'll just connect this to the central IV line in your shoulder, you won't feel a thing."

Booth clenches his teeth and forces himself to hold still; she's now close enough for him to smell her, and that scent, too, is disturbingly familiar and completely wrong at the same time.

"See? All done." She steps away, and Booth manages to relax a little. He desperately hopes she'll leave, but she goes to re-check the readings on his monitors while she starts talking about something she heard on the news this morning. Booth has no idea what to make of it, so he keeps silent; he wouldn't know what to say to her anyway.

"I'm sorry," she says when she's done, "that was force of habit, I guess – Dr. Brennan asked me to talk to you whenever I could, and I guess I'm so used to it by now that my mouth switches to autopilot as soon as I'm in here." She grins, and Booth has to look away because his mind keeps tying itself into knots trying to remember where he has seen that expression before. "Maybe you woke up because you just couldn't take my constant chatter any more, huh?"

She clearly expects a reaction to the joke, but Booth barely notices it. "Have you been in here a lot?" He's sure he doesn't remember her from a hospital room, but he didn't remember Genny from one either, and he can only hope this is another strange mix-up his comatose mind came up with.

"Yeah, both here and while you were in the ICU. Your coma worker thought that it was better for you if you didn't have to adapt to new nursing personnel all the time. There's three of us, but I cover most of the day shifts." She gives him a calculating look that makes him deeply uncomfortable. "Looks like Genny was right, given that you know my name."

Booth shakes his head again; he feels like he's just a heartbeat away from remembering what's going on, but somehow the answer keeps eluding him. As familiar as she seems, he could swear that it's been some time since he last saw her, and he's absolutely certain it wasn't in a hospital...

"How long have you been working here?"

He hopes the question sounds casual enough not to tip her off, and to his relief, she just shrugs. "At this hospital, you mean? Almost five years. Why?"

It doesn't make sense – he can't have been in a coma for five years, can he?

There's only one thing he can still ask, and no matter how much it terrifies him, he needs to get a grip on himself unless he wants his heart monitor to give away just how close he is to panicking.

Taking a deep breath, Booth tries to muster up every ounce of self-control he possesses.

"Hannah – what day is it?"

"Today's Tuesday the twenty-first." At his expectant look, she clarifies, "July twenty-first", but that still doesn't help him.

"And... the year?"

Now she hesitates. "Look, perhaps I shouldn't –"

"Tell me!"

She seems a little taken aback by the sudden outburst, and Booth hears the accelerating beeps that will inform her exactly how close he is to losing it completely, but he needs to know.

"Hannah, please tell me." He has no idea how he managed to sound calmer, but it does the trick.

"2009 – but you really need to calm down, or I'll have to..."

He's no longer listening to her; all he can hear is his heartbeat thundering in his ears, so loud that it drowns out even the shrill beeping of the monitor. Like a river flooding everything in its path once the dam breaks, his memories are rushing back in, drowning his mind in images, sounds, and smells, and in the shadows of forgotten nightmares.

You forgot, you forgot it all – you almost fell for this, almost let yourself get pulled into it, and God alone knows if you would ever have made it back... Stop this while there is still time, get out while you still can before you lose what's left of your mind!

Booth squeezes his eyes shut and brutally clamps down on his rising panic; it's not too late yet, but he needs to put an end to this right now, needs to go home before he can't find the way any longer.

No matter how real it feels, this is nothing but a nightmare, and you need to stop dreaming and go back to where you belong. Focus, focus on yourself, on who you know you are, hold on to it with all your might, and when you open your eyes the dream will be over.

Focus...

"Booth, can you hear me?"

He almost sobs with relief when her voice cuts through the turmoil in his mind, and even though she sounds shrill and alarmed, he's sure he has never heard anything more beautiful in his life.

Booth takes a deep breath that feels like a heavy weight being lifted off his chest, and finally dares to open his eyes again.

Bones, her face pale and drawn, is standing in the door of the hospital room and regards him with a look that is heavy with fear and sorrow.