Memories of things to be

The distinct clank of metal hitting metal in a constant rhythm used to soothe his mind. To feel his muscles stretching and contracting in the effort of lifting weights connected him to his body, a source of truth and honesty to him.

He'd learned to trust his body messages, especially those that came from his gut.

It had been early in his soldiering days when he'd learned reason alone wouldn't keep him safe. When a bullet was directed at you it wasn't reason the one to tell you in its usually logical and cool way to duck: it was your body reacting. As the years had gone by, he'd understood every small twinge of his body; to know if it was telling him to run, stay, fight, fly. Defend. It was a language he understood and with which he felt comfortable.

As the years had gone by, he'd realized it was something that hadn't helped him survive and be one of the best snipers only during his army days, but something he'd always had. He'd realized he'd been relying on his gut since a child, when it had been that telling him his father was in an especially sour mood and that it'd be best if he just hid with his little brother in the closet. That his mother was going to give up on them—again—and leave for another couple of months. That in those few days after she left and he couldn't find her, the closet wasn't safe enough.

Understanding that had been another sign for him to follow his gut. But now, for the first time in so many years he'd lost track, he was questioning his body's wisdom.

He left the weights on their hook on the bench and sat, drying the sweat drops with a towel. Not taking much of a break, he drank a little water while going to the abs machine and started working out.

It wasn't like he felt contempt for reason, anyway. He'd gone through college and well, tactics were all about logic—even if he always considered what his gut was telling him before took the decision. He knew he was smart; maybe not as much as the people he surrounded himself with these days, but smart enough.

And if there was something he'd learnt from her, it was how much reason could help you.

Or block you.

As he felt the anger rise in him he pushed himself to work his abs much faster, like it could somehow burn away the frustration it caused him how she kept fighting against him and a relationship with him. He'd tried; he'd talked to her, showed her what their chances were. His body had told him to fight for what was between them, so he had. His gut had told him things would turn out fine, so he'd trusted. His heart had yelled at him it was all worth it...

But now he couldn't help but wonder if maybe they were all mistaken and that, this time, he'd be better off listening to his mind and just let things go for he'd done enough.

If only his whole self didn't feel like crap at the thought.

Memories not lost

The next time he'd opened his eyes she'd been standing next to his bed, looking down at him, doing nothing more than trying to see a sign of his waking up. This irrationality in her... well, it did lead her to do things she would have never done before. But even as she allowed herself to experiment with those little things, she could feel herself afraid of the outcome. After all, the burden created by her love was too big right now to let her even try to walk.

But he'd opened his eyes. She'd seen the way his breathing had changed and his eyebrows had furrowed before his eyelids had struggled to open as if light was too much for him. And though she didn't notice, she fisted the sheets into her fists trying to stop herself from reaching to him.

At last, his eyes focused on her. And a little smile formed on his lips.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Booth?" she knew she shouldn't let her hopes rise, but couldn't really stop herself.

"Yeah... God, this is so weird," he said, his voice raspy.

"Are you ok? Is there anything you need?"

"Water, please."

As she poured some water on a cup, she realized her breathing was agitated with anxiety—was he back? Did he remember?

She'd been told he could have trouble and that it'd be difficult for him to drink, so she put a straw in the cup and helped him wet his lips first to then start sipping slowly... after all, he hadn't swallowed a thing for almost 6 days.

"How's everyone doing?" he asked in what she considered to be a typical Booth question: the others always came first.

She smiled. He seemed to know who he was talking about, as good a sign as she could fathom.

"They're fine... worried about you, though."

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to see how she was doing. Then he reached for her hand and closed his eyes. Even seeing how tired he still looked, she couldn't help but feel a few butterflies wings in her stomach.

He knew. He recognized her, he remembered the team. Their team.

"Booth... I'm so happy you're awake. I was afraid you wouldn't be the same and I... I know it was foolish of me, but..."

"I don't think I remember what happened."

Ok. If only for the deep sense of disappointment she felt at that, she knew she had hoped for too much. She struggled with herself and let her hand remain in his, knowing how he'd need the connection.

"What do you mean, you don't remember what happened?"

"The last thing I clearly remember is us at the lab." His eyes set on her again and smiled. "How are you feeling? Any morning sickness? God, how long have I been in the hospital? I can't believe I'm missing days out of this process."

What? She thought. He wasn't making any sense. So she held to the only question she felt she could give a proper answer to.

"You've been here for almost a week. Can't you remember what I told you the last time you woke up?"

"A week?" he sounded rather amused by the idea. "I wasn't expecting that, for sure. But no, I don't remember."

"Booth... you had a brain tumor." She realized her hand was curled into a fist under his, but didn't even try to relax it. "You were in a coma for four days!"

"Hey... are you ok?"

"No, I'm not ok, Booth, but I think that you're doing worse. I'm calling the doctor."

As she left him puzzled on the bed, she did her best to try to put her hurt in a box inside of her. Maybe she couldn't deny how hard it was for her to see him this way, but at least no one could force her to experience it full force.

She sat in the cafeteria with an untouched salad and a cup of crappy coffee, wishing fervently for the familiarity of the diner or the Founding Fathers.

But that was an impossibility, so a useless wish. First, going there alone wouldn't be the same. Second, well... Booth needed her. He'd always, always been there for her; the least she could do was do the same for him.

She would have been with him while the doctors tested him, no matter how hard it was for her, if not because they'd asked her to leave: they needed Booth's complete attention.

So maybe it was for the better. She'd convinced one of the nurses to call her cell phone when the tests were ready, so she'd know when she could go and question the doctors about Booth's health. But the fact that she couldn't be there for the process hurt her in itself, more than it would have hurt to watch it all happen.

"Sweetie!" she heard Angela say as she came to her table. "How are you?"

I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm frustrated as hell and, no matter how irrational this is, I'm angry with him for not being ok and making me love him in spite of all this.

"I'm fine, Angela. It's Booth I'm worried about."

"What happened?"

"He woke up again."

"And what's wrong? It's good he woke up!"

"He doesn't remember what happened... he seemed to be really confused, though he did remember who I was and also asked about you all."

"That's so like Booth," Angela smiled.

"Yes, I thought the same. But you should have seen him, Ange, he was so... unimpressed about what had happened. When I told him he'd been in a coma for four days he chuckled, like it was nothing to worry about. And he asked..." if I had morning sickness. "...strange things."

"No," her friend said, concern etched on her face. "What do the docs say?"

"They're testing him now."

Angela reached for her hand and squeezed. "Don't worry, Bren. He'll be ok."

"You can't know that."

"I know. So don't worry. We're all here for anything you need."

Her cell phone rang then. As she told Angela to wait for her, she prepared herself to face what the doctors could say, and went in search of the diagnosis.

I'm sorry it took this long to post, but here I am... with a new chap to post soon and even another oneshot for the collection to post later in the day, too!

I have a few dreadful tests in the next weeks, so hopefully that won't set me seriously back on the writing. I'm already a slow writer, don't think it'd be nice if I took even longer to update that it is necessary.

Anyway, thanks to Hannah (Northwestern here at ff net) for her betaing and comments! They can either make me smile or blush, lol.