Thanks for the review, favorites and fallows so far guys! I was wondering whether or not I should continue because I was unsure if anyone found it interesting. So thanks for letting me know there's interest! As always, I don't own Bones. Have good time, read and review, and thanks to everyone!
This is a war of injuries, not deaths. If people could just understand that, maybe we'd gain some sympathy.
Support for the war in which we are not the aggressors is at an all time low.
There are constant protests.
Yet no one understands that these countries advanced on us, that if we hadn't invaded, our country would have blood spilled on the sidewalks.
People do not understand that if it were not for our choice to invade and deploy, civilians would die.
Those that don't protest have forgotten.
We're still over there.
We're still fighting.
We're still dying.
Each and every one of us.
We will remain in those countries for the rest of our lives.
Whether we come home alive, or whether in body bags. Whether we come home unscratched or come home with four less limbs then what we went to war with.
We will remain in those countries until the day we die.
And even then, I'm sure that Hell will look a lot like a war zone.
-Written in by Christine Angela Brennan-Booth during deployment.
I look at these words and have to keep from shaking.
It's been two weeks since she's awoken. And the fear in her eyes each time she wakes up is unbearable.
Bone's refuses to leave her side, being there after every nightmare, after every fearful encounter with whatever devil she's dealing with. Bone's is there to explain, each time she wakes and see's her arm gone, and can't move her legs, she's there to explain what happened and how she's here.
I'm there too, and I can't help but realize that when her mother calms her down, her eyes drift to me.
What am I gonna do, daddy?
That's what her eyes ask, but I can see that it's more than that when she smiles and asks about everyone else. Michael comes whenever he can, but he's mainly helping me and Hodgins start renovating the house. Whenever she asks about him, I can see a spark of hope in her eyes, something that brings a tear to my own.
She's afraid.
Parker is coming in often too, making jokes and winking at her.
"Well, Seaman Booth, how are you on this fine and lovely evening? Enjoying your stay?"
"Sergeant Booth, a pleasure! Tell me, do you serve cocktails at this fine establishment?"
"Why indeed we do, you damned sailor!"
When I finally coax Bones to go home, Christine is sleeping, fidgeting in her sleep, and I hope to god the sound won't wake her. I tell her, hey, Angela and Hodgins will be over, they'll look after her. Don't worry. You aren't any good to her exhausted.
Bones tries to tell me a million things that she knows about amputations, about the fact that Christine will be fine, just fine, statistically she'll be alright, and I have to calm her down by the time we get in the car.
"You're scared. It's okay to be scared, Bones."
"This isn't about me, Booth…"
"No, but you're her mother. It's okay to be scared for her."
She doesn't cry loudly, she doesn't sob. Instead, silent tears fall down her face as though in constant, and exhaustion takes over her as soon as the car starts moving.
"She still thinks everyone is alive in her unit, doesn't she?" she asks that one last question.
"She's smart. I think she figured it out a long time ago,"
We pulled into the driveway, up the patio, where a series of ramps are attached. Oddly, Michael knows a lot more about building then I'd have originally given him credit for.
Bones is sleeping when we pull in, and I carry her inside, setting her on our couch before preparing food, giving Angela a call to ask how close they are. When everything seems alright, I prepare our plates and walk in to wake up Bones. After simply sitting on the couch, I instantly fall asleep.
"Michael, honey. Just please. Talk to me, will you?"
"What's there to talk about, mom? Hmm?"
"Please, sweetie…You must be feeling it. That pain. You aren't as much a scientist as you'd like to pretend you are,"
"I'm fine, mom. I just want to see Chrissy. Is that so bad?"
"Alone?"
"We aren't supposed to go in with more than two people anyways. I'll talk to her for a while and then you and dad can go in. Please, mom. I just…I want to talk to her. She's my…" I pause for a long time and then blinked. "She's be my best friend. I'm not going to act odd in front of her,"
Mom seems to think and then pats me on the back.
"Fine. You have a little while. Me and you're dad are going to go get food. You have that much time,"
"Fancy restaurant?"
"White Castle,"
"So…Thirty minutes?"
"Tops,"
"Alrighty then,"
I state, starting to walk already. My backpack is slung over my shoulder, the stupid zoo backpack with "Hodgins" stamped on. We were supposed to use it if we ever went on a camping trip to do some research. Granted, it was free, or it'd come out of our paycheck whether we wanted it or not, so why not use it?
The hospital wasn't something I particularly enjoyed the sight of. The last couple of times I'd been here hadn't exactly been fun. Well, not here exactly. It was a military hospital, not a civilian, which was weird to me. The majority of people here had injuries, not illness, and I had to keep walking forward. Once or twice a couple women had stopped me and thanked me for my service.
'Um, no ma'am. I'm, uh, a friend. Not…' and then I'd be on my way.
They didn't chase after me. I assume it's probably a mistake that could be made by anyone.
When I make it to Christine's room, she's mumbling something under her breath, eyes shut tightly as her one arms attempts to grab at something. When I come in and whistle, she suddenly stops and gulps in, forcing a grin.
"Mikey! Hey, man! Where's your mom and pop?"
"Cut the crap, Christine. It's okay if you're hurting,"
Her face crumples for a moment and she just shrugs.
"It itches so damn bad. It itches and it hurts. Counting backwards from one hundred helps,"
"How?"
"I think, well, maybe I can't get through the entire day. But I can definitely get through a hundred seconds,"
I stare at her. The admission was a strange one, something I had yet to hear from Christine Brennan- Booth. And I doubted many others had heard it either. She squirms slightly and shuts her eyes, mumbling the words again.
I feel awkward, misplaced. But perhaps because we've seen each other sick before and in pain, I perch on her bed and offer my hand for hers. She opens her eyes for a moment and clutches my hand, closing her eyes.
We both count backwards, then upwards. It becomes a mantra.
Sometimes, her face crumples and for a moment she stutters over a number. Like she can't quite get it.
"N….N…The one that comes after eighteen?"
"Nineteen," I state, and for a moment all is right again and she calms.
Sooner or later she calms significantly and the numbers fade. Exhaustion kicks in and her hand lets go of mine.
"Don't….Wan…You to go…" she mutters, and she searches for my hand again. I take off my backpack and grab what's inside, setting it down.
"It's a Dingo. Australian. We had one at the zoo. One of the few good things," I state. She looks sleepily at it and hugs it tightly to her chest.
"What…." She seems confused for a moment and tries to sort out the wording. "What is it called by?"
"It's name? It doesn't have one,"
"I'll name him later, then. Now I have someone with me all the time…He…Won't…Leave,"
This aches my heart, but I simply watch as she falls into sleep.
"I won't leave you either, Christine. I promise," I state before getting out of her bed and sitting next to it, aware that mom and dad have come inside the room, are looking between us. I get up, but when I leave, I perch outside of the room.
Just in case she needs someone to count with.
I'm a good counter.
