7

7.

We were awoken by a squeal and a sound like jumping from the hallway. Even with the door closed, it was loud.

We blinked at each other. "Busted," he said, his voice rough from sleep. "She usually doesn't get up this early," I said.

"OK, you two, I know you're awake," she said, entering the room. I sighed. Seven in the morning was far too early to deal with an ecstatic Angela.

An hour later, we were saved from further interrogation by Dr. Watkins. Angela and Jack took our keys, and promised to return with changes of clothing for us both. The meeting was as I'd expected. It was a pituitary tumor, the headache and vomiting the impingement of the optic nerve. I knew that the initial drug therapy to shrink a tumor was the same, cancer or not, so we agreed to start therapy the next day. I would have to stay at the hospital the first week, but assuming today went well, they would move me to a regular room. Dr. Watkins agreed to let me review my chart, even allowing me my laptop, as well as access to the hospital network.

"Thank you," I'd said. "An informed patient is a happy patient," he replied, leaving us along again.

"I didn't get a good morning kiss," he said, leaning in and gathering me to him. So sweet, his kisses. "Good morning. That's much better than morphine."

He settled into the bed with me, wrapping me in this arms as we watched inane daytime television between kisses. Before too long, a nurse came in with breakfast, and to change my catheter. I shooed Booth off to the cafeteria, so the nurse could work.

"You think you can try standing and walking, cherie?" she asked. I looked at her, startled. "What, cherie? Not ready yet? You're a strong gal, let's give it a go."

"Sorry. You reminded me of a colleague for a moment. She always calls me cherie. You just caught me off guard."

"Well, unless you're involved in prosecutin' scummy murderers, you wouldn't know my sister."

"Caroline Julian?" She looked shocked, then looked at my chart. "You're that bone doctor she's always going on about. The one with the father who killed that FBI man?"

"Yes."

"Oh, cherie, she was never so happy to lose a case. Now what landed you in here?" I told her, still nonplussed by the fact that twice in two days, I'd met people with a connection to me. I shook my head, and Jeanne, Caroline's sister, just laughed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're going to be fine. You're a fine woman, and you're doing the work of the angels. You just listen to me, you're going to be alright."

Smiling, I said, "I would never contradict a Julian." She threw back her head and laughed. "That's right!"

We found I could stand, and she removed the undignified catheter. I made my way into the bathroom without help, and managed a shower before getting winded, and needing to sit on the toilet, holding onto the bars. "Jeanne?" I called. She bustled in, and it was like I was five again. I was dry, dressed, my hair brushed, and tucked back in bed before I knew it. And then, she was gone.

"She reminds me of Caroline," said Booth, peeking his head in the door. "I was afraid to get in her way."

"She's her sister." "No way!" "Way. What?! Even I'm not that clueless."

Later, after I'd been down and back for another MRI, Booth disappeared into the shower with more scrubs. I was lying there with my eyes half-closed when I heard a soft tap.

"Dr. Brennan?" I opened my eyes. "Deputy Director Cullen—Come in." He was bearing a large flower arrangement in reds, oranges, and yellows. "The Tech team sent this over." "Oh, they're lovely. Please tell them these are my first flowers."

"I also came to tell Agent Booth that Agent Santana will be working yesterday's case while you're . . . recovering."

"I, I'm sure he'll appreciate that. Thank you, Director." "Sam." "Then it's Temperance. Booth is in the bathroom. Hang on." Turning, I raised my voice. "Seeley? Sam Cullen is here when you're done." He yelled "ok," and I turned back to my visitor. "Would you like to sit?"

We talked of non-work-related things—his wife, their other daughter, the upcoming fall harvest festivals in the area. Booth emerged in fresh scrubs, toweling his hair. "Director Cullen," he began.

"Seeley, call me Sam, for Christ's sake. You're likely to be promoted over my head soon anyway." Booth just blinked. "I was telling Temperance that Santana will work yesterday's case for … the time being."

"Booth—the rest of the team can handle the preliminary work. If they really need help, Sam, Dr. Clark Edison is quite good. I'm sure Dr. Saroyan wouldn't mind if he consulted."

"I'll remember that. Seeley, a moment?" They stepped outside, closing the door behind them, both looking serious, and occasionally glancing in at me. I pretended to be watching TV. Sam Cullen looked shocked at something Booth had said, then looked in at me before resting his hand on Booth's shoulder. He said something else then, and Booth's expression shifted, lightening. Sam looked shocked again, then laughed and clapped Booth on the shoulder, before they walked back into the room. "Temperance, I'll return, if I may?"

I was surprised. I thought he didn't like me—but I smiled and nodded. He left, and Booth settled on the edge of the bed. "He hasn't forgotten how you insisted we help Amy."

"What happened out there?"

"He told me to take the next two weeks off, and to 'tell that stubborn gorgeous partner that you love her.' I told him I already had, and he said Sweets owes him 200.00. I guess Sweets' money was on me getting shot again before anything happened."

"I'm not sure how I feel about being the subject of the FBI betting pool."

"You're just mad that you and your beginner's luck couldn't place your own bet."

"True, very true."