A/N – Wow – it's been forever since I've updated this story! I'm kind of ignoring what happened in the second half of season 2, naturally, just to keep up with continuity of the story. Hope to post more often! Reviews are very welcome. I do realize that Brennan is slightly OOC in this, but we all love a hurt and distressed Brennan and overprotective Booth right? I hope though, that this story has its own uniqueness. Your input is very valued!
Chapter 7:
Two days passed by quickly. Booth had formally requested a leave of absence, stating that he had a family emergency. To him, this was an emergency. Somehow they had managed to keep what had happened to Brennan within the Jeffersonian Medico-legal lab family, and wished to keep it that way, in an effort to salvage Brennan's reputation. The only other person who knew was Cullen, who willingly gave Booth the time off, as Bones had done so much to help his dying daughter.
The time spent in the psychiatric ward was lonely. Booth still hadn't been able to talk to Bones, although he had spent hours standing outside her door, watching her. The doctors would come in and out, taking time to talk with her. It was in those moments that Booth planted himself in the family waiting room, sipping on rancid burnt coffee, aimlessly staring at magazines and books among a few others, who mirror his face of exhaustion.
On the first evening Booth had sat next to a man nearly his age, tie askew, eyes hollowed. Seeley wondered if that was how he looked as well.
"Hi," the man had said, "I'm Tom."
"Seeley" Booth replied, as he shook the man's hand.
"Never a great place to meet people," Tom tried to joke, giving a half hearted smile. "Family member?"
"My work partner and best friend…" Booth replied quietly. Tom nodded,
"My wife. Lost our baby 2 months ago during childbirth – it had taken us 3 years to conceive. She hasn't been the same since. Last week I found her in the bathroom with an empty pill bottle."
"I'm so sorry," Booth answered, thinking of Parker and of Bones, and of how serious the situation really was. Tom had just opened his heart to him and Booth knew that he and Tom both felt the same grief for a loved one.
"My partner was kidnapped a few days ago and buried alive in a car. We barely made it to save her. She has always been strong, independent. Would kick my ass if I ever went 'Alpha male' and protective as she liked to say. She had been dealt a bad hand all her life and it took me a long time to get her to trust me, but eventually she's become my best friend. After this, she clammed up – has been pretending like nothing's wrong; like the fact she survived gives her reason not to fear for what almost happened. She had been blanking out the last few days. This morning I found her passed out in her apartment, with her wrists cut…" Booth lapsed into a comfortable silence with Tom, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
As Booth sat waiting early in the morning, he noticed a familiar presence sit next to him. It wasn't the first time now. Most of the time, they sat in silence, not having any reason to talk. Others, they made small chit chat, almost in an effort to salvage their sanity.
"Have you gotten to talk to her yet?" Tom asked Seeley quietly.
"Not yet, but they said maybe today. They won't even tell me how the evaluation has been going." Tom sighed,
"It takes a bit to hear back from the doctor. The first time you talk is the hardest – you really don't know what to expect, but try to act as normal as possible, and try not to blame yourself completely." Booth looked up at the man, who looked at him knowingly. He just nodded back.
-----
The last two days had been hell for Brennan. Doctors in, doctors out. Then there were the nurses. They wanted her to talk, about things, about anything. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to think. She was sleeping more, no thanks to the sedatives they were administering, but yet she was still blanking out. She needed to alter her hypothesis.
Then there was the loneliness she kept denying. She had no doubt that Booth had given up on her. Alpha male tendencies were great for saving the kidnapped and buried, damaged daughter of a con. Their personalities rivaled each other, or at least they used to. She was no longer a damsel in distress, she was a lost cause. Booth would find someone better. But she didn't care. She couldn't care, and she wouldn't. She wouldn't let it hurt. So instead she remained silent in her empty, bitter room. After all, the doctors couldn't analyze her if she didn't speak.
So instead, her thoughts were left to contend with her situation. No doubt she would be replaced at her job. Booth had given up on her, and she knew the rest of her friends could move on. Angela had Hodgins now, and Zack could easily replace her. Once the public found out that she was currently holed up in a mental institute, her credibility and reputation would be lost. What else was left?
She glanced at the cuts on her wrists. It had been irrational and illogical, but that momentary rush, that sense of feeling. Booth believed in heaven, and if he was right, then maybe she would get to see her mom. She had nothing left to lose.
-----
"Agent Booth?" The man in the stark white lab coat asked quietly to the small room of people. No one else flinched or looked up, except him, quickly getting to his feet, whispering a quick bye to Tom. He followed him down the hall to Dr. Jules Office, the head of the psychiatric ward. He motioned for him to sit down.
"We wanted to inform you that we have finished our evaluation of Dr. Brennan." Booth just nodded, unable to speak. "We are concerned about Temperance. We have been completely unsuccessful at getting her to talk at all. In fact, the last time she has spoken was when she was admitted to emergency." Booth felt his stomach tighten.
"What's going to happen to her?" The doctor sighed,
"Frankly, we're at a loss at what to do. Dr. Brennan is a very intelligent woman, and I can tell she is full cognizant of what is happening. Rather she is choosing not to talk because she wishes not to. Normally people who suffer from mental illness do not last in such silence, nor seem to constantly contemplate the situation." Booth nodded again,
"So you don't think she's mentally ill?" He asked hopefully. Again, the doctor sighed,
"Mentally ill, as in Schizophrenia or Bipolar disorder – no. From what I can gather from her history, I would say that Dr. Brennan is suffering from severe post traumatic stress disorder, along with acute depression. This last event seems to have triggered something that made her lose control. As explained by yourself and your coworkers, she was having periods of unconsciousness – similar to epileptics with silent seizures. We have witnessed those as well, up to 10-20 times a day, where Dr. Brennan has been completely catatonic. The cuts on her wrists also support my diagnosis. She is feeling hopeless and stressed over what had happened, and the fact she refuses to talk about it only concerns me greater about her continued mental health."
"What can we do? How can we help her?" Booth asked desperately. The doctor was making the situation sound hopeless – there had to be something, something they could do.
"I'm not prepared to release Dr. Brennan yet. She is a high risk patient for suicide, and until we get some input from her, I do not feel comfortable having her outside of supervision for her own safety. We have begun a course of antidepressants to see if that helps her. However, the question still remains of getting her to talk. What we would like to do is have you go visit with her, and see if you can get her to open up. Her other doctor also noted that her other friend Angela Montenegro might also be a good person to come visit. Once we can get her talking, then we will re-evaluate her release. Would this be something you would be willing to do?"
"Of course. I'll do anything to help her. But I don't know if she'll open up to me anymore. She's been pushing me out ever since the burial happened." Booth answered truthfully.
"At this point, Agent Booth, you seem to be our best shot." Booth sighed, trying to imagine what he was going to say, how he was going to handle himself without running up to her, half hugging her so tightly she would know how much he cared, half trying to shake some sense into her. But he would do it. He would do it for her. He looked up at the doctor, and asked quietly,
"What happens if I can't get her to talk." The doctor stared at Booth inquisitively, reading Booth better than he wanted to be read.
"You will." Was all he said.
-----
Booth stood outside her door for what felt like the hundredth time in only 48 hours; this time, however, he had the doorknob in his hand, and he was terrified to turn the handle. Instead he watched her. Sitting on her bed, facing towards him, but not looking at him. Her face was pale and drained. She looked skinnier and smaller, as if she was wasting away. He needed to do this for her. He slowly turned the knob, and put on a soft smile before walking in.
Brennan slowly looked up, realizing that the person entering was lacking any medical scrubs and runners, but rather had dress shoes, and incredibly wrinkled dress pants. He moved a little closer, when she finally met his eyes.
"Hey Bones," he whispered. She just stared at him for a second. She could sense her growing uneasiness. Finally, she whispered back, barely audible,
"Booth."
