A/N: Sorry for the wait. But, now I am – finally – on break so it is time for writing!

Chapter 6

The constant sound of the whirling engine was not comforting to Seeley Booth as he anxiously tapped his shoe-covered foot on the plush carpet of the jet's floor to a fast, upbeat rhythm. He was not relaxed – far from it, actually. In fact, he reasoned, he was probably the least relaxed person anywhere.

The moment he had got that call, that damned call, he was sprinting out of the Jeffersonian, driving hazardously on the freeway to the airport, and trying to get on the first plane to Ethiopia they had.

Unfortunately, all of the flights to Ethiopia were cancelled because of the massive earthquake that had just damaged their airport. And no matter how much Booth yelled at the manager or flashed his badge, it wouldn't change.

After realizing it was pointless and he was wasting valuable time, Booth frantically called Angela, who after frantically calling Hodgins, secured a flight on one of the Cantilever Group's private jets.

And now Booth was sitting here, in one of those fancy leather seats that oh-so-annoyingly leaned back right when you were just trying to get your bag and had a freakin' remote to go with it. The other squints were also on the plane, taking to each other in hushed whispers while looking anxious. Occasionally, they would look worriedly over at Booth. Booth was not oblivious to their distress, but he refused to acknowledge it. In his mind, he just went over the phone call again, and again.

"Booth."

"This is an automated call from the Addis Ababa General Hospital. TEMPERANCE BRENNAN has been admitted to our hospital for HEAD TRAUMA AND BROKEN ARM. Please contact our front desk if you are medically viable for this person. Have a nice day."

Relief – she's alive. At a hospital, being treated.

Despair – she's hurt. Head trauma, broken arm.

Frustration – why isn't he there by her bedside?

Head trauma? What kind of head trauma? Could they have been less specific? Is it the kind of head trauma that makes you lose your memory or the kind that you just need an ice pack for?

Oh god, thinking about looking into Brennan's eyes and seeing nothing but confusion and no recognition made him want to hurl onto the fancy, polished side table of the jet.

She hasn't woken up.

The worst part was knowing, deep inside, that this was his entire fault. His stupid, stupid fault. He should have called her. Drove over to see her, anything to make sure she knew he was alive.

If she knew, she wouldn't have left. And she would be awake right now.

It was all his fault.

She hasn't woken up.

This, however, was a lie. As of 36 seconds ago, Brennan had woken up and was currently blinking groggily into the dim, flickering light of the hospital room. Waking up more, she peered around at her surroundings. She didn't recognize them.

Don't panic.

Where was she? She was on a bed… a lumpy one in fact. There was a heart monitor hooked up to her, and an IV in her wrist. Hospital, she thought. I'm in a hospital room. But why?

Doing a quick inventory of her body, she realized that she, in fact, had a fractured arm. Her ulna was the fractured bone, by the feel of it. She then became aware of a dull throbbing in her head. It increased its intensity until she had to close her eyes to stop the pain that was increased by the light.

Why did her head hurt so much? She tried to remember…

The earthquake. Dr. Muller. Booth. Ethiopia.

She had obviously gotten injured in the earthquake and was in the hospital. But how long had she been there? What was going on?

Right as Brennan was about to scream in frustration, the door to her room opened and a doctor in a long, white coat walked in. The doctor glanced up from the clipboard she was carrying and paused in the doorway when she saw Dr. Brennan's sharp, blue eyes following her.

"Dr. Brennan! You're awake!"

"Quite obviously," Brennan answered in a rather clipped tone. "What is the full extent of my injuries, Doctor?"

The doctor looked taken aback. She was an attractive lady, Brennan reasoned. She had high zygomatic arches, large optical cavities, and creamy skin the color of chocolate.

"Let's not rush into anything, Dr. Brennan. How are you feeling?"

Brennan calculated. "My right ulna is moderately painful, and I feel it swelling so I would like some ice. My cranium is throbbing quite painfully, so much so that it hurts to look into the light."

"Well, Dr. Brennan, you have a stellate linear fracture on your cranium and a fractured ulna, as you suspected. Are you having trouble remembering anything? Problems with eyesight? Anything of that nature?" As she said this, the doctor examined Brennan's vitals and charts.

Brennan looked annoyed. "I can remember everything adequately. Have you run a Computerized Axial Tomography Scan to see if I have any brain damage that is not initially apparent?"

Again, the doctor looked astonished by Brennan's bluntness. "Yes," she replied, "we have. It came out negative. There was also no evidence of intracranial bleeding or subdural hematoma."

Brennan nodded. "How long have I been here, doctor?"

The doctor looked at her watch. "About a day. It's around three in the morning, now. We've called you're next of kin, Dr. Brennan, and he said that he's on his way."

What? But Booth was her next of kin. She had changed it after a particularly dangerous case, a couple of months back. Who had they called? And, more importantly, who was coming?

Booth was running for what seemed to be the fiftieth time today. He was running and running, but he just didn't seem to get there fast enough.

Thirteen hours. Thirteen.

That's how long it took for them to land in Addis Ababa. By the time that they had landed, Booth had yelled at the pilots three times, broken one scotch glass, almost broke into tears four times, and almost punched Sweets 12 times. Sweets consistently came over to Booth's seat and tried to get him to open up about his feelings and crap. Booth could barely process what was happening in his head so the idea of talking to someone else about it was repulsive. Sweets had no idea what he was going through, no matter how many certificates he had on his wall.

There is no cure for a broken heart. There is no therapy if the love of your life dies. There is only pain and regret and the agonizing knowledge that if you had done something different, they might still be there that day. And that guilt eats away at you until you die.

There is no cure.

The squints had drifted in and out of sleep respectively, but Booth had remained awake the entire flight. How could he sleep knowing that Bones was out there somewhere, hurt, alone, and thinking that he wasn't coming for her? Booth would always come for his Bones. Always.

And now he was running through a cement maze of hospital buildings (Concrete, Booth. Cement is an ingredient in concrete) so he could find out where she was.

Finally, Booth saw a building with the sign 'Reception' on the door and burst through. It was just like any other hospital he had been in. Rough, stained carpets and scuffed faux-tile, uncomfortable-looking waiting chairs, stark walls, and roaming nurses. It smelled the same too – antiseptic, cough syrup, and bad perfume.

He located the front desk with a nurse stationed behind it. She was bent over a computer and didn't look up when Booth approached, squints following.

When she didn't immediately look up, Booth impatiently cleared his throat to gain her attention. She looked up at him, her dark eyes hidden behind a mass of bangs and glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked without feeling.

"Yes, I am looking for a Temperance Brennan," Booth said, "she had a head injury from the earthquake."

The receptionist's hand slid over the keys of her computer in quick strokes.

"She just moved from the ICU. Main building, room 403."

"Will I be allowed to see her?"

Booth hadn't meant to ask this question, but it slipped out anyway.

The receptionist looked at them skeptically. "Are you family?"

Booth's fingers clenched around his badge in his pocket and was about to pull it out when Angela, who had joined Booth at the desk, said, "I'm her sister. And this is our step-brother." She motioned to Booth.

Angela was a damn good liar.

Booth nodded.

"Then, yes, you will be allowed to see her."

That was all Booth needed to hear.

Cam came over with Hodgins and Sweets.

"She's out of the ICU? That's a good sign," Cam said.

Yes, Booth thought, it was good. But he still longed for physical proof that she was OK. He needed to hold her in his arms and make sure that she was alive and well.

"Let's go," Booth said, and they all walked over to the main building as quickly as they could, Booth in the lead.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened and Booth stepped out onto the correct floor. Looking one way, there was a long, empty hallway with rooms on both sides. Turning his head the other way, he saw the exact same thing on the other side. Following the signs, he continued in the direction of 'Room's 400-420', the squints matching his hurried pace.

As he walked, Booth thoughts turned and turned. What would Brennan do when she saw him? Would she be angry? Relieved?

Would she kiss him?

Would he kiss her?

(he wanted to)

Would she hit him? Call him names? Scream at him? Cry?

Or, would she do nothing at all. Would she care? She hadn't even gone to his funeral, he reminded himself.

Don't be an idiot, Seeley. She said she loved you.

Booth wondered – what would being in love with Bones be like if she loved him back? Booth pictured them kissing after successfully catching a murderer, hugging at the Jeffersonian, holding hands under the table at the diner. Booth wanted that. And before this week, he never thought that there was a possibility that that might ever happen.

But there was. And Booth sure as hell was not going to let that chance go to waste.

Booth was pulled out of his thoughts as Angela, Cam, Sweets, and Hodgins all stopped at a door. 403.

For a second, they all paused in front of the door; each one of them considering what could be on the other side. All of them hoping for something good and fearing for something bad.

But then the moment passed and Booth shoved the door open.

And there she was.

Bones.

She was laying down, but awake, with a doctor checking the chart by her bed. Her face was bruised and there was an ice pack on her head and a cast on her arm, but she looked OK. Physically.

Booth was drawn to her eyes. He always was; their cerulean blue color entranced him and winked at him when she smiled her crooked smile. But now, they looked flat. Booth longed to see the sparkle of them once more. He wanted her to look up from her bed and see him and smile and say "hey Booth" and they'd laugh together. She looked tired and like she never wanted to smile again.

She was in pain.

"Bones."

He had not meant to say it aloud. It had slipped out, a near whisper that did not go unheard in the previous silence of the room. It was a confession, a prayer, and a statement of love all in one word. One name. Her name.

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his.

"Doctor, are you sure that my head injury wasn't more extensive?"

Her eyes never left his.

The doctor looked up from her chart to look at Brennan, surprised.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Without taking her eyes off of Booth, she said, "I seem to be having an auditory-visual hallucination."

Oh, Bones.

"Bones," he began, but stopped, unsure of how to continue.

The doctor looked up at them both with confusion in her eyes.

"Dr. Brennan, are you referring to the man in the door way? I don't think that he is a hallucination."

Brennan turned to look sharply at the doctor, not even noticing – or noticing but ignoring it – when the ice pack on her head slipped out of position and into her lap.

"You see him too? But," she breathed, "that is impossible."

"Bones, I'm not dead."

Way to state the obvious, Seeley.

"Not… dead?" Brennan repeated, like the words were hard to form.

"No," Booth assured, moving closer to her bed until he was right next to it, "I'm right here. The Bureau forced me to fake my death to catch this guy who said would never appear unless it was at my funeral, so they made me swear to keep quiet and forced me into hiding. But they told me you knew, Bones! I told them to tell you, I swear!"

At some point during the speech, Booth had knelt down next to the bed so that he was eye-level to Brennan, silently begging her to believe him.

Brennan had gone very pale. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly parted. She didn't say anything.

"Bones?" Booth questioned, nervous by her lack of response.

And then Brennan did a very unexpected thing: she kissed him.

She grabbed his face and moved hers to meet his so that they were locked in a passionate embrace. Booth was shocked, but responded quickly.

Booth had imagined what it would be like to kiss her for a long time. A long time, practically ever since he first met her.

He had pictured it a million times. On a stakeout, at the Jeffersonian Christmas party, just leaning over the table at the diner and planting one on her.

But he never thought it would be like this.

As soon as his lips touched hers, warmth chased away all of the fear, anxiety, and anguish that had been running through him all day. He felt whole and, for the first time in a while, happy. He kisses her back hungrily, like he has waited his whole life for this, because he has.

He wants to press closer to her, feel all of her skin on his fingertips, press into her until he becomes a part of her.

He wants this never to end.

But then it does. She pulled away abruptly, and they were both panting.

Her eyes were hard.

"Go."

The word reverberated around the room, or maybe it just echoed inside of Booth's head, the cold word repeating over and over.

Go. Go. Go. GoGoGoGoGoG. Go.

And that one word shattered his heart.

Wow. Angst!

Tell me what you thought about this chapter and feel free to correct me if I got any medical stuff wrong. I got all of my info of a medical website and Wikipedia. So. It might be wrong.

Thanks for reading!

Aria.