Author's Note: Though not a POV piece, this one is mostly Brennan-centric. I wanted it up days ago, but for some reason couldn't get the wording right. I kept hitting snags until finally I decided to just go with what felt right.

Not much else to say but I hope that you like the end result. That, and please review. Thanks!


Anyone who didn't know her well would say that Brennan was a cold person. She looked at cases from a clinical perspective, and was therefore seen as distant. While she didn't completely agree with that idea, she had to admit that it was partially true. In her field of work, it was impossible to not be linked to your cases somehow, but it was always a better idea to remain detached.

It didn't stop her from feeling, though. When everyone else was caught up in the confusion, her ambition was what made her push forward to solve the crime. No one deserved to be left for dead never to be found again. Witnessing monstrosities greater than anyone could imagine, Brennan knew that there was still evil existing in the world.

She wouldn't admit it, but that was one of the main reasons she refused to watch any of the movies Angela had begged her to see. She dealt with enough pain and sadness in reality, why should she face it when she didn't have to? Angela would say it was because she hadn't seen them yet, but she'd beg to differ. Most of the time, the characters would be far too contrived to actually be beleiveable. The storyline would be one that had been recycled so many times, Brennan found herself realizing the ending before the movie was half of the way over. And, as she'd told her friend, she simply couldn't find a reason to connect with the characters.

It wasn't that they were too fake; that they weren't acceptable by normal social standards. To put it simply, Brennan grew tired of them and couldn't identify with their fears or feelings.

Reality was different. Different than the movies, than the stories or anything else she might have heard. Reality was ten times different, with the same effect of scraping her face against the hard concrete. It was what made her know that the scene playing before her was indeed real.

Machines. Monitors. Tubes. Every one of them connected in some way to her partner.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been watching him, or how long she'd kept a firm grip on his hand. It was irrational, of that much she was sure. The ridiculous thought that if she kept that connection, Booth would still be there. Closing her eyes against the memory of first finding out that he had been seriously injured, Brennan found herself grateful in a way for the silence.

Time held meaning, but seemed insignificant. She'd go home when it was safe, she reasoned. Word had already been delivered that the people responsible for the kidnapping had been captured, and Brennan was well aware of the guard posted just outside his door. There was enough security to make Booth himself satisfied, but she didn't think it was enough.

When would it be enough? After everything the had been through, there always seemed to be something else. Sure, she realized that their line of work involved a certain level of danger, but it seemed like every time things would start to get normal again, something far more terrible than the last time would happen again. They'd get along just enough to pick up all of the pieces and place them back together only for everything to be shattered.

The notion itself was pointless, because life wasn't 'breakable'. It couldn't be literally shattered, but it could feel like it. The tears that sprung in her eyes were proof of that fact.

His breathing was even, and the steady beep of the monitor at his side told Brennan that everything was fine. Medically, he was healing. Mentally, Brennan didn't know if he'd ever be the same. They'd spent weeks chasing after the killer, and after they'd taken him captive, she knew that Booth had suffered more. She'd jumped right into her work, resisting any offers of a break until the case was finally solved and Booth was found.

Exhaustion began to consume her, presumably an after the fact result from the adrenaline. Her eyes blinked shut, but she fought to keep them open.

Staring at Booth's sleeping form, she found herself unable to tear her gaze away. She took to memorizing the lines of his face, the way his jaw was set. While she tried her best to not mentally capture the scars that she knew he'd be left with, it seemed inevitable.

A fear like she'd never experienced had taken hold when he was gone. The trouble was, the more Brennan thought about it, she had felt it before. When Booth had been injured before, she felt a combination of things that all resulted in one nearly all-encompassing fear. Nothing like she'd felt before, but like all of her feelings rolled into one when he was found safely.

She'd always found trouble connecting with something in the movies or on television because they weren't real. Imaginary and written characters weren't anything Brennan could identify with. But Booth...broken and bruised was something entirely different. Something entirely...tangible.

Booth was there, and he was real. Something terrible had happened to him, and he was placed in the hospital. It wasn't a dream, or a scene from a horror flick. She'd heard the doctors whispering in the hallway, and knew that if they spoke to her, they'd try and make it sound as hopeful as possible. No matter what their efforts were, she was well aware of Booth's chances.

She did another sweep of the room, trying her best to remember that they were indeed safe and well. 'Well' was under question, because Booth had yet to wake. Not willing to submit to the entombing fear, Brennan braced herself against the hard chill that began to permeate the room. Though it was an unbelievable notion, she swore the clock on the wall was taunting her with every click.

One Minute. Five Minutes. Ten. Twenty.

A nurse had come to check his vitals and to reassure her that if anything happened, they would indeed call her. Thankful for the fact that visiting hours weren't over, she still knew that the nurse was trying to politely ask her to leave.

Try as she might, she couldn't pry herself away. She wanted to move, but she didn't trust her own legs. Weighed down by some invisible force, Brennan felt as if they had been filled with sand. Of course the more than she thought about it, she knew that it wasn't true and that logically, the feeling in her legs was only brought on due to a lack of energy and an increase in exhaustion.

Something was different, and she couldn't quite define it. It rested on the tip of her tongue, just close enough to taste, but not enough to touch. It lay just within her grasp, and as she turned her head, Brennan saw something that until that moment she'd only imagined.

A shift. He hadn't woken up, but he'd moved. His eyes flicked underneath the thin skin of his eyelids, and his lips pursed. A slight change on the monitor, and she felt compelled to stare. Normally, she'd know that a doctor should be informed, but she somehow needed to know for sure by herself. A strange sense of need filled Brennan, and that thought alone scared her.

Her whole life, she never needed anyone. Due to being traded back and forth in foster homes, she was used to not becoming attached. What at first was a preference soon became a necessity in staying as far away as possible to everyone else emotionally. Science became her best friend because it was all facts. Mistakes could be made, but they could always be detected. With relationships, mistakes could be made and not noticed until years later. You could be with someone and get caught up in the whim of a fresh start, only to be brought down by the differences mere months later.

She'd heard the stories, and knew that it was possible for two people to have that sort of unbreakable bond, but had never before believed in it. Brennan would laugh at the so called 'chick flicks' when the so-close-to-teenage actors would profess an undying love that so many would ultimately peg as touching and emotional. It was fiction, and to get so attached was unthinkable. Fiction wasn't real, and as an author she got to experience that fact every time she sat down to write Kathy's latest case.

Fiction couldn't explain what she was feeling, though. Something far more separate than anything she'd ever truly experienced, but the words fell just as they reached her lips. Something wasn't ready; wasn't yet ripe. She sighed as she accepted that fact.

"Hey, Bones." The scratchy voice greeted her.

She jumped, clearly startled. "Booth, you're awake." In retroscpect, Brennan would realize how pointless her statement was.

Booth smiled at the relief laced through her voice, and winced at the pain that slowly came to him.

"I should go and find a-" She paused, frowning at the look of urgency that flooded his face. "-I'm not leaving, Booth." Her eyes sent an unspoken promise to him as she slid her hand from his.

What she said affected Booth almost as much as what she didn't say. He watched as best he could as Brennan went to the door to call for a doctor, standing with her foot keeping the door open as to not create a gap.

Satisfied that she'd caught the right person's attention, Brennan turned to find that for the first time in weeks, Booth was staring back at her. For whatever reason she'd save to decipher later, she walked back to his bedside, determined to keep her promise.