A/N: I apologize once again for the wait, but my life has been… well, let's just say a little crazy. However, I'm out of the hospital and am almost completely recover at last! Finally! I'd like to finish off this story in the near future so I'm going to do my absolute best to update way more quickly from now on! Now, on with the story!
Booth lay with his eyes closed, trying to remember where he was. At one point he had been on the floor somewhere with Bones leaning over him – that must have been at the Jeffersonian. Then he'd been in a wheelchair in the parking lot with Hogins and Brennan and they'd been yelled at by Cullen – what had his boss been doing in the parking lot, anyway? Then he'd been in Bones' car… and then his apartment… Booth decided that it was a pretty safe bet that he was in bed – the floor was never this comfortable.
I must have been a lot sicker than I thought. Rolling onto his side without bothering to open his eyes, Booth let out the quietest of groans. He felt terrible. Great, what a time to get sick – right at the beginning of a new case. Bones was probably mad as hell at him by now and busy thoroughly frustrating the replacement agent that the FBI would have sent by now. He smiled slightly to himself at that thought. Nobody back at the bureau believed him whenever he told them about the antics the squint squad –especially their leader – got into.
Somewhere in the background Booth heard his door open. Door open? That was weird. Who else could still be there? His unspoken question was soon answered.
"Booth, are you awake?" Tempe whispered, trying to keep her voice soft and low.
Opening his eyes and shifting around a little on the bed, the special agent peered at the backlit figure of Bones standing in his bedroom door. She was still here, not harassing his poor replacement back at the lab? He didn't know what to make of it.
"Hey, Bones." His voice was quiet, lacking its usual strength, but a faint version of his usual smile was still trying to illuminate his face. "What are you still doing here?"
"I brought you home," Brennan stated trying to tactfully avoid his question – even though Angela had all but stated on several occasions that tact was not her forte. In all honesty Tempe wasn't completely certain of the answer to that question herself, only that Booth's well being had suddenly shot straight up to the top of her priority list, even managing to surpass her work. It was as though in those brief moments as she had watched Booth tumble down the stairs her entire focus had narrowed down to a single person who wasn't dead yet for once. She strongly suspected that there was some sort of psychological explanation for the reasoning behind all of this. She really disliked psychology. Shaking her head slightly at her own thoughts, Brennan tried to refocus her mind. "Do you like soup?"
Booth's brows furrowed in tired confusion. Soup? Why was Bones asking him about soup? It struck him as a very un-Bones question. His mind offered no answers to his question so he just went with the easiest route – just answer the question and don't try to think about it too hard. "Yeah."
"Good." Booth raised an eyebrow slightly as her silhouette disappeared from his door way before rolling on to his side and closing his eyes again. He was so tired….
Tempe walked purposefully back to the kitchen to inspect her options. During her search for medical supplies in Booth's kitchen she had unearthed three cans on soup and a pot and put them to one side. She frowned at the labels trying to decide which one to heat up. There was cream of mushroom, tomato bisque, and chicken noodle. After several minutes of thought she selected the chicken noodle. Wasn't there a series of books about the stuff being good for the soul or something? What did soup have to do with spirituality anyway?
Oh, well, this was still progress. Tempe had gone from having three cans of soup to on and she already had a pot. So now all she had to do was find a can opener….
