OH MY GOSH I adore you all. I can't believe how much you all like my little story. I just hope I keep performing at your standards. Keep up the reviews, it all impacts my writing. I'm sorry this took so long to update. It was a difficult chapter for some reason, and I had to get it to where I liked it.
Also; do you remember me saying I was taking liberties? I meant it. I know much of what's going on doesn't fit with the time line of the show, and in some cases I have rearranged chunks of people's lives. That's why the story is AU, it's not intended to match. Just clearing that up. (This doesn't mean I love those reviews any less . . .)
Temperance Brennan's apartment smelled of pine and canvas, rain incense and simple green, oil paints, turpentine, and coffee. Without opening her eyes Brennan knew; she was not at home.
She was surrounded with the simultaneous odors of illness and astringent cleansers. Disgusting.
She experimentally opened her eyes and immediately regretted it; It is intolerably bright. What possible purpose could it serve to have the room so brightly lit?
She covered her eyes with her hands and spread her fingers ever so slightly to facilitate pupil dilation. As she waited, slowly spreading her fingers and allowing her eyes increasing degrees of light, she did a mental assessment of her condition.
She could feel a throbbing pain along her supraorbital ridge, down through her nasal bone and sinuses, her entire cranium seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. Her abdomen felt as though it had been hit very hard with something very heavy, multiple times.
Headache, light sensitivity, abdominal pain, I believe I am 'hungover'. No wonder Angela is so irate after a night of excessive drinking. I must remember to be sympathetic to her condition in the future.
Brennan groaned and pulled her hands down her face; as though the tactile contact would assist in soothing her pain.
It didn't.
She winced as her pupils slowly finished dilating and the room came into focus.
Everything was white and sterile, silent except for the chirp of a machine to her left. Brennan frowned, thinking involuntarily of the last time she had been in a hospital. It was not a pleasant memory.
At least I can check myself out this time.
To the right of her bed was a bank of large windows, That explains the inordinate amount of light in my room.
Absently, she scratched where the IV was inserted in the median vein of her arm.
How did I get here? What happened? Was I in a car accident? She looked over her arms, hands and legs, No visual abrasions or contusions, and aside from the symptoms associated with excessive alcohol consumption and dehydration, I cannot isolate the sensation of physical pain anywhere on my body.
Brennan took careful stock of her surroundings, Heart monitor, ok. Saline drip, ok. Catheter, why is there a catheter? Hospital gown, no bra, no panties.
Brennan jabbed the red button on the arm of her bed with her thumb, paging the Nurse's station down the hall. "Someone will be right in," came the polite, emotionless, disembodied response.
I seem to be in a standard hospital room; therefore I most likely did not sustain any sort of severe physical trauma. The only other logical possibility being that I ingested too much alcohol.
Brennan's thoughts were interrupted by a slightly overweight, short, middle-aged Nurse, "Good morning, it's good to see you awake. I'm Denise," she paused to write her name on a whiteboard on the wall next to the bed, dotting her 'i' with a little heart. "I'll be on shift until after you go home."
She smiled kindly at Brennan, "Let's check your vitals and then the Doctor will be in to see you."
She gestured for Brennan to sit up; with a stethoscope she checked Brennan's lungs and breathing.
Brennan breathed as deeply as she could without being prompted.
"Ok, follow my finger with my eyes, don't move your head. Good. Now look right at me," She pulled out a small flash light and flicked it across Brennan's eyes, first the right, then the left. "Ok. Great. Can you walk?"
Brennan nodded hesitantly. "I think so."
The laminate floor was cold under her unsteady feet, her toes curled against it. Brennan was overcome with vertigo, she grabbed the bed and waited for it to subside. Nodding to reassure Denise, she took a couple of hesitant steps and found herself completely capable of walking under her own power.
"Good. Let's pull the catheter out and you can go to the bathroom. I need you to pee into the cup on the back of the toilet, just to make sure your system is clear."
Clear of what? A blood test would be more accurate to test my sobriety.
Brennan wheeled the IV rack along with her on the short walk to the bathroom, using it to steady her still questionable balance.
Regardless of her own opinions, Brennan dutifully urinated in the cup and carefully returned it to the back of the toilet, then extensively washed her hands and exited the bathroom.
Dragging the IV back with her as she returned to her bed, she saw that a woman in a white lab coat had joined them. The woman reviewed Brennan's chart, then lifted her face to meet Brennan's eyes, "Hello, I'm Dr. Johanasson. Can you please tell me, what is the last thing you remember?"
Brennan returned to her bed as she thought about the question, "I prepared for my date with Michael, he picked me up and escorted me to a party. After that, I don't know. I drank something with vodka in it, I believe. Truthfully don't remember much after we arrived."
Brennan knit her fingers together in her lap and looked at Dr. Johanasson and Denise, "I feel I have been extremely patient and compliant up to this point; will one of you please inform me of my medical condition and how I was admitted?"
Dr. Johanasson looked at the Denise, "I'll take it from here."
Denise nodded and left the room, pulling closed the privacy curtain as she left.
Dr. Johanasson flipped to the second page of Brennan's chart, "You were brought in, unconscious and unresponsive, with a dangerously low heart rate and respiratory distress."
Brennan sat, stunned. "What was my blood alcohol content?"
Dr. Johanasson looked at Brennan, "Point oh nine."
"What? Then how-?"
"You were given a large dose of Rohypnol, more commonly known as roofies or 'the date rape drug'; the dose was too large for someone your weight. Had you not been brought the hospital when you were, the drug, in combination with the alcohol in your system, would have killed you."
Dr. Johanasson waited while the weight of what she said sunk in; it was a lot of information and most of it unwelcome.
The date rape drug? Angela told me about that once. Rapists and 'bad guys' can mix it in a drink, that's why it's popular for sexual assaults. But why would someone put that in my drink?
Unless . . .
Brennan suddenly felt very cold.
"Was I raped?"
"No. You have no evidence of physical trauma of any kind."
Brennan felt relief, and anger. I may not have been raped, but someone intended to harm me, and nearly killed me.
Dr. Johanasson prepared to hedge the next, inevitable, useless question, as she had a hundred times before. How could this happen to me? She hated that question; she never had an answer to it. That was a question for a shrink, not a doctor.
"What sort of treatment did I undergo?"
Dr. Johanasson's eyebrows lifted in surprise; that was certainly not the usual question.
Brennan looked at the doctor expectantly with somber, flinty eyes.
I will not victimize myself, I have not done so prior to this, and I will not begin now.
"Your stomach was pumped to remove any unabsorbed Rohypnol and alcohol. You were given intravenous saline and diuretics to flush your blood stream of the drugs." She flipped back to the front page of the chart, "It looks like you've made a full recovery, your vitals are all back within the norm. We'll run another urine test to be sure, but it looks like you'll be going home in the next few hours."
There was no mistaking Brennan's relief, I'll be fine. This is nothing compared to the rest of it. I can handle this.
"Do you have any other questions before I go?"
Brennan shook her head, thinking.
"Oh! There was one thing."
"Yes?" Dr. Johanasson turned in the door and looked back at Brennan.
"Is Michael still here?"
"Michael who?"
Brennan looked at her, confused, "The young man who brought me in."
"I don't know about Michael. The name we have for the young man who brought you in is," Dr. Johanasson looked through the chart, "Seeley Booth."
"Who?"
"You don't know him?" said Dr. Johanasson, her eyebrows raised.
"No, I don't know anyone by that name."
"Well," she smiled, "He must be your guardian angel then, because his actions are what saved your life."
Brennan opened her mouth to correct Dr. Johanasson, that she did not have a guardian angel because angels were fictitious. But then remembered that 'guardian angel' could be a colloquialism for someone who helps another without the expectation of reciprocation. By the time she thought to ask Dr. Johanasson if that was what she meant, the doctor was gone.
Brennan looked out the window, running through the night again in her head. Michael must have gotten a drink that had Rohypnol in it somehow. But how? Michael had no reason to drug me, I was already planning on having intercourse with him, I am sure my manner of dress made that clear. I suppose it could have been an accident, but people don't randomly hand out drinks with Rohypnol in them at parties, unless I have been seriously mislead by Angela regarding the status quo of college parties. Why, then, would someone drug my drink and then leave me alone? I must be missing some crucial information, because nothing about this seems logical.
Brennan didn't notice that Denise had returned until she said something, "Are you doing ok?"
"I believe so. This is not how I anticipated spending this morning. But it could undeniably be worse. Therefore yes, I am ok."
Denise blinked in surprised, taken aback by Brennan's logic.
"Dr. Johanasson tells me that you've never met your knight in shining armor?"
"My what?"
Denise looked at her utter bafflement and smiled, "The young man who brought you in. Would you like to meet him? He's still in the waiting room; he didn't want to leave until he knew you were going to be alright." Denise looked at Brennan with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye, "He's very handsome, I can let him in if you like."
Brennan looked down at her hospital robe. It's longer than the dress I had on last night.
She blushed, embarrassed.
Though she did not usually care overmuch for the opinions of strangers, the actions of this man in the waiting room, this Seeley Booth, were beyond reproach. She wanted to meet him and thank him for unquestionably saving her life.
However, I think I need legitimate clothes and a shower before I interact with anyone; particularly someone with which I have no previous acquaintance, particularly in light of of what he has done for me. Regardless how attractive he may be.
Sure, her inner self added, the fact that he's handsome has nothing to do with why you want to wait to meet him.
Brennan squelched the voice, I cannot deny the anthropological appeal of being rescued by an attractive male, if the nurse is accurate in her assessment of him. However given the events of last night I would prefer to meet him on my own terms.
She looked at Denise, "I would rather not meet him in my current state. But if you could please tell him how I'm doing I would appreciate it."
"Of course. I'll be back in to check on you later, if you need anything just page me." Denise smiled and walked out the door, leaving Brennan alone with her thoughts.
Brennan sat, waiting for her labs to come back as she tried to find and answer to the question she found suddenly dominating her thoughts, Who is Seeley Booth?
Seeley Booth brought me to the hospital.
Seeley Booth saved my life.
Seeley Booth stayed all night in the waiting room to be told if I lived or died.
Seeley Booth is out there, right now, waiting for me.
Brennan gave pause, her thoughts of Seeley Booth giving way to the one thing that had been hovering in the periphery of her mind all morning, Where was Michael last night, and where is he now?
