sheepishly holds up world's worst updater award Ok there are almost no excuses for just how horribly bad I have been at updating this story. Except for the whole I'm in school thing and all of my writing energies have been turned toward writing papers for the last few months. However, there is light at the end of tunnel. This late little Easter present will have to hold you over until the end of April when exams are over. Then I will return to updating regularly. And before you scoff at what regular updating can mean for a girl who hasn't updated in almost four months, I promise that once I'm done school for the year that you will get at least one chapter a week. As long as my muse doesn't wander off. At any rate, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I'm running out of ways to say they aren't mine.


Ch. 9 – Reflections

Booth closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. The details of Granger's story whirled through his mind too fast for him to grasp. He tried to think of something else that would clear his head so that he could focus but the only thing that came to the forefront was an image of Bones, her face a shocking shade of white against her auburn hair. Suddenly his own words came back to him from before she had left asking her if she remembered her previous vacation in New Orleans. The image of her seated on the doctor's examination table, her bare feet dangling over the edge, battered and bruised on every visible inch of skin was still vivid in his memory. It was quickly followed by his recollection of the documentary photos the police had taken that he had obtained without her knowledge. Those images still haunted his nightmares, the images of her bleeding, a dazed look in her eyes.

He knew that now he had a whole new set of images to haunt his nights. His vivid imagination could just picture her there standing on that mountainside, waiting to prepare her bones for transportation. The sniper in him could picture how the shooter might have looked at her staring almost right at him, the sun's rays setting her hair ablaze in a riot of color. How the sniper had waited until her skull was precisely in the center of his crosshairs. His eyes flew open at the thought and he turned to Luke.

"You said there was a laser dot on Brennan's forehead just before the shooting started?" he demanded.

"Yes sir, I couldn't tell what it was at first but then I realized and started to pull her to the ground."

"But it was a laser."

"Yes, sir," Luke said, his brow furrowed questioningly.

"This guy was not a sniper."

"What do you mean? He hit her. Twice."

Booth tried not to flinch at the thought of the bullets tearing through Temperance's soft, white flesh.

"A real sniper uses a scope, not a laser sight. A laser can give your position away before you can get your shot. Besides, if our guy were a true sniper she would have been… dead before you'd seen the laser," Booth said, upset at the thought but his eyes blazing with the victory of starting to determine the nature of the bastard who'd tried to kill his partner. His mind began to churn, settling into investigative mode.

"The other remains that Bones unearthed, are they still at the compound?"

"Yes," Jamie replied, surprised at the sudden change of subject.

"You two need to go back there, get them and bring them back here. If these attempts to scare her off the case are being organized by someone in the compound, those bones aren't safe. And once she's ready, Temperance is going to want those bones at her disposal."

The two captains nodded in agreement and stood.

"You'll make sure we know when she gets out of surgery," Luke stated, issuing an order of his own.

"I will," Booth said, realizing that Bones had charmed the two younger men. Despite her tendency to be unsociable she had managed to gain the affections of the two army captains that stood before him.

"Good. We'll bring the bones back here for her," Luke said and then headed down the hall, Jamie at his side.

Booth watched the two men as they disappeared. They were still willing to follow orders, ready and eager to do what was required of them but the expression on their faces was one he'd seen on his own reflection in the mirror back when he'd served. The shell-shocked expression that would turn into the haunted but stony gaze that he gave when asked about his past.

Booth gazed unseeingly at his reflection in the rearview mirror on the passenger side of the jeep. Hank was driving the vehicle at a breakneck speed making each jolt that much harsher when they hit potholes. Booth could feel his friend looking him, could feel the concern coming off of him in waves. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead all he could seem to focus on was that annoying song that had played over and over during the many hours he had patiently waited for the perfect shot. And the image of that little boy falling next to his father, unaware of what kind of monster had just departed the world, only concerned with loss of the man who was the world to him. The boy's piercing wail had risen up to the rooftop where Booth had lain, freezing him. The horrible sound of the child's keening had combined with the song that had still been playing and now the two sounds were fused together, an inseparable sound loop constantly repeating in his head.

He didn't know how long he had remained on that rooftop after his deathly accurate shot had left his gun. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it had only been a few minutes. The next thing he knew, Hank had crawled up beside him. He was whispering to him that they should move, should leave before someone figured out where the shot had come from and came after them. Booth had nodded mutely, suddenly aware of the numbness that enveloped him. He wasn't entirely sure of how they had gotten off that roof and out of the village. All he knew was that felt as if he had been sitting in the jeep driving towards camp for an eternity. An eternity that separated him from what had gone before and what would come after. The distance was comforting. Cold, but unbelievably comforting.

Another bone-rattling pothole sent the jeep careening from the left to the right and then it ground to a halt. Hank swore and hopped out over the door. Booth watched him detachedly, only half of his brain recognizing that this affected him as well.

"We've got a flat back here," Hank announced. "I'll just change it and then we'll get back to camp for our debriefing."

Booth nodded absently and turned to gaze over the pockmarked landscape. Seconds later, he was nearly deafened by the concussion of an explosion directly behind the jeep.

Booth started awake. Back in his army days he had conditioned himself to sleep no matter what his stress levels were. After leaving the service he had thought he'd lost that ability. But now back in a world where name, rank, and serial number were the three most important things to keep in your head and where orders determined your every move, old instincts were kicking in. He surveyed his surroundings without moving his head, another old habit that had fallen into disuse, in an attempt to discover what had awoken him. He spotted the young doctor that had stopped him from going with Bones into surgery talking at a low volume with one of the women at the nurses' station. He watched the pair and attempted to determine if they were talking about his partner. Based on the frequent glances the nurse kept shooting in his direction he assumed they were.

Torn between going up to talk to them and waiting where he was for one of them to come to talk to him he remained rooted where he was. He watched with trepidation as the young doctor approached him.

"Mr. Booth?" he questioned timidly.

"Yes? Do you have news? How is Temperance? How was her surgery? Is she… did she…"

The doctor put up a hand as if to stop the stream words flowing over Booth's lips.

"I do have news. We're just finishing up your wife's surgery now. She did very well and her odds are very good. Her blood loss was significant but we were able to repair the arterial damage. It wasn't as significant as we'd originally thought. We also managed to retrieve all of the bullet fragments from her leg and although she will have to wear a cast for a little while, there should be no permanent damage."

"What about the fragment that split off?" Booth asked, knowing how much damage a small piece of metal let loose inside of someone could do.

"We found it not far from the initial wound and prevented it from doing any significant harm."

"So she's going to be fine?"

"There are a few things we need to watch out for over the next few days but…"

"What things?"

"We need to be concerned about blood clots, they can cause some serious problems if she develops any. Also, since her wounds were exposed to so many different things before she got to the hospital, infection is a major concern. We're going to pump her full of antibiotics in an effort to ward it off but there is still a large chance she could become ill and in her weakened state a minor fever could be very dangerous. We'll be keeping an eye out for any spikes in her temperature and anything else unusual but we're very optimistic. Your wife should make a full recovery."

Booth gave a sigh of relief. While Temperance was still a great distance from being out of the woods, the fact that she had made it through surgery was huge. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to God, he then stood up slowly.

"When can I see her?"

"She should be in her room in about an hour. She may not wake up for at least a few more hours after that," the doctor cautioned.

"That's fine. I'll be there anyway. Now if you could direct me to a pay phone, I need to make a few calls."


Angela turned to stare at the phone ringing on her desk. She was on her way out the door of her office, eager to go home and soak in a relaxing tub of hot water and bubbles, secure in the knowledge that her best friend was safe with one very hunky g-man. But now that phone was ringing and each shrill echo made her stomach twist into a tighter anxious knot. Putting her bag down she strode back to her desk and scooped the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Angela," there was a sigh of relief.

"Booth. You sound stressed, is everything ok?"

"Not quite."

"Is she ok?"

"Not really."

Angela dropped into her chair.

"How bad is it? Better or worse than New Orleans?"

"Worse. If it were better do you honestly think I'd be the one calling?"

"Good point. Should I be flying out there right now?"

"No, I've got it handled. Just thought I'd call you and let you know that we won't be flying back home any time soon."

"That bad?"

"They typically don't let you fly for at least a few weeks after you've had major surgery."

"Surgery? What the hell has she gotten herself into?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm concentrating on getting her through this before we start any investigating. I just wanted to let you know what was going on."

"Thank you. You'll keep me posted?"

"Of course."

"Well I'll let you get back to her. Take care, sweetie. And take care of her."

"I'll do my best."

Angela hung up her phone slowly as tears stung her eyes. Booth had been so cryptic but, reading between the lines, she knew that things were on the verge of dire. She wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at her phone when Jack popped his head into her office.

"Angela?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking of stopping by Wong Foo's for a drink before I head home, care to join me?"

"Umm…"

"Ange, are you ok?"

"Not really. That was Booth."

"Ok. I don't see the significance. Booth calls here all the time."

"Yeah, but… this wasn't a normal call. He's in Kosovo. With Bren."

"What?"

"It's a long story with the ending of she just got out of surgery for something major and Booth is wigging out and…" Angela sniffled as tears threatened to overwhelm her. Jack unthinkingly reached out a hand and rubbed reassuring circles on her back.

"Hey, it'll be fine. She's Brennan, she can make it through anything."

Angela looked up at the man beside her and gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Thanks for the thought," she said, "but I don't know if she can make it through this. Despite what she likes to think, she's not invincible."


Booth twisted his hands together. After calling Angela and sending a message off to Captains Sommers and Granger, he'd spent a few minutes in the hospital chapel. The smell of candles and the hushed awe that permeated such places had reassured and calmed him. Those few quiet moments had given him the strength to keep going. To get here in front of Brennan's hospital room door. But only to get here apparently. Standing literally only a half dozen feet away from his injured partner he now found himself rooted to the spot. He was petrified of what he would see once he opened that door. Standing in the corridor of a military hospital brought back memories of waiting for other friends. Waiting and never seeing them again.

"You're being irrational" a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Bones stated firmly. Realizing he was, in fact, being ridiculous Booth squared his shoulders and slow swung the door open. He took two steps forward and then halted, his breath hitching in his chest.

He'd thought she was pale on the chopper but now her skin was an otherworldly shade of white. Her hair was spread out against the pillow providing a sharp contrast to her complexion. The blankets were pulled up to just below her armpits, her arms above the covers. Several needles connected to tubes protruded from them. There were also wires connected to various monitors exiting the neckline of her hospital gown. A small tube providing nasal oxygen rested across her top lip. Despite the fact that he'd been in a similar position before and had brushed it off as minor, Booth now realized just horribly terrifying it was to stand on the other side of the bed.

Mustering the last of his strength, he crossed the remaining distance from the doorway to the chair next to her bed. He sat there silently for a few minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, watching her face that was no longer lined with pain. He slowly reached out and took one of her slender hands in his. Her skin was slightly cool against the warmth of his own.

"Hey there, Bones. Listen, I know that ordinarily you'd tear my arm off for even trying to hold your hand but under the circumstances I'm hoping you'll grant me an exception. You see this really keeps me calm and helps me make sure that you're still here. That you're still alive. And maybe it'll help you too. You know, knowing that someone's here. That there's something worth coming back for. So you can rest for a little while, 'cause I know those drugs they gave you really knocked you out, but after those wear off I'd really appreciate it if you could wake up. Just so I can make sure you're really ok. Because that would really help me out."

Booth leaned back slightly in his chair and watched his partner's chest rise and fall in an even pattern, taking comfort in the fact that the worst of this ordeal was over. At least he desperately hoped that this was the worst of it because he wasn't sure he could handle much more. Leaning back in his chair but still retaining his grasp on Brennan's hand, he closed his eyes. Images of Brennan lying before him bleeding to death in the chopper filled his mind. Her words echoed in his ear, her lips repeating his name over and over.

"Booth."

His eyes flew open at the sound, realizing that that last repetition had not been his imagination. His searching gaze met the groggy and confused blue eyes of the woman lying in the bed.

"Booth," she said again, a sound of relief evident in her tone.


That's right, I'm gonna have to leave you there. Now it's the time where your participation is encouraged. You see that little button in the bottom left corner of your screen? Push it and leave a few words for my muse and I. We treasure each and every one and they help us to keep reading. Or at least guilt us into not forgetting about a story.