4.
I woke up slowly. My head was still killing me. I heard beeping, felt a mask over my mouth. The light was bright, even through my eyelids. Raising my hand to my face to remove the mask, I heard a rustle, then, "Bones, don't. Leave it on."
I opened my eyes in the direction of his voice. He was sitting in the chair next to me, looking worried. I raised my eyebrows in inquiry.
"You passed out as you were standing up." I nodded, remembering the uncharacteristic nausea. "They said your oxygen levels were low. You've got an electrolyte drip. You were out almost two hours. They did . . . some blood tests, they're checking the samples Rodgers collected, and they, uh, did an MRI and a CAT scan." I was shocked. It was just a headache.
Booth half-grinned at me, worried expression still in place. "When were you planning on telling me that you'd made me your health care proxy?"
I shrugged, moved again to remove the mask. "Leave it on," he said, standing and leaning over me to hold the mask in place. Up close, I could smell his cologne. So nice, Old Spice, and Booth. And then, it wasn't. He must have seen something in my face, because he pulled the mask off, rolled me to my side, and grabbed a container in one continuous motion. Again, heaving became my whole world. Temperance Brennan, Queen of Heaves. Hah, I'd have to remember that one for later. Up close, I could see bile, dark blood. Not good.
"Nurse?! Some help here! Hey!"
I heard the heart monitor skipping in time with my heaves. His hand was on my back, the other on my forehead, steadying me. Someone came in-- I felt the sting of a needle in my abdomen, but I kept heaving. The room blurred, and faded.