AN: Wow... Seriously, I love you guys. I love all of your theories and panic and yes, even your pleas to update faster. I hadn't planned on updating until Friday night but hey, you're awesome and this chapter's a short one by nature.
Have you paid attention to everything? Let's find out... This chapter is for my grandfather, whose passing led me to cling dearly to this chapter's song and the musical it's drawn from. He was a very wise man when it came to life and love, and I like to think I chose the guy he would have chosen for me as my husband, were he still with us.
I don't own Bones or Shuffle. Consider me disclaimed. Dialogue borrowed from episodes is strictly for context and continuity; no infringement intended.
MORITZ
Those you've known
And lost, still walk behind you
All alone
They linger till they find you
Without them
The world grows dark around you
And nothing is the same until you know that they have found you
WENDLA
Those you've pained
May carry that still with them
All the same
They whisper: "All forgiven."
Still your heart says
The shadows bring the starlight
And everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night
WENDLA (Counterpart with Moritz)
When the northern wind blows
The sorrows your heart holds
There are those who still know –
They're still home
We're still home
MORITZ (Counterpart with Wendla)
Though you know
You've left them far behind
You walk on by yourself, and not with them –
Still you know
They will fill your heart and mind
When they say there's a way through this
MELCHIOR, MORITZ AND WENDLA
Those you've known
And lost, still walk behind you
All alone
Their song still seems to find you
They call you
As if you knew their longing –
They whistle through the lonely wind, the long blue shadows falling
MELCHIOR
All alone
But still I hear their yearning
Through the dark, the moon, alone there, burning
The stars too
They tell of spring returning –
And summer with another wind that no one yet has known...
Those You've Known - Spring Awakening
Booth winces as his eyes flutter open, taking in the broken glass scattered like marbles on his lap. His hand reaches up to touch his forehead, massaging what he's sure will be one hell of a bruise come morning. It's when he looks up, searching out the other vehicle, that he realizes the bruise is the least of his worries.
A shard of glass hangs in the air, inches from his face.
"What the hell?"
More shards hover, like a firework captured mid-burst in the sky. The streetlights reflect upon them, twinkling like tiny diamonds, prismatic. His fingers reach out to touch one and it falls immediately. Startled, he shoves open the car door and stumbles out onto the grass. Only the grass is not grass at all - it's a road. His road. The one outside his home.
Has he really crashed the car into a neighbour's tree? And wait... who is behind the wheel? He approaches the vehicle anew, dropping to his knees as he recognizes his own face, unconscious and bleeding.
"God, no... No!" he screams. "I can't... I have to get to her! I have to save her! How... How did I screw it up?"
But there are no answers, no way back into himself. This, he perceives, is the death of him. There will be no rescue, no way to atone for the things he's said, no second birthday with Christine... Nothing. He has failed.
"I undid meeting her. I was going to her. I paid attention this time... God, please...I don't understand," he murmurs.
"I presumed as much."
The voice is a punch in the gut and he buckles further forward in shock. It can't be, he thinks frantically. This can't be happening. Ironic, in light of all he's experienced until now, but it's the only thought that comes to mind.
"Turn around, Booth," the voice urges.
Reluctantly, he complies, his voice hoarse as he rises and acknowledges his lone companion in the night.
"Vincent."
He is dressed in a white lab coat and jeans, his hair as unkempt as it often was in life. In life... because he's not alive. He's dead. Dead because of me. The intern smiles, shaking his head slowly.
"I have to confess, you've been a rather stubborn man to help," Vincent says, chuckling softly. "For a man of faith and God, you've certainly resisted his guidance."
"What's happening to me?" Booth pleads. "Am I dead?"
"It's true what they say, Agent Booth. When you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. It started here; it ends here," Vincent explains. "Right now, you are in the middle of this accident."
"But Bones... She's going to be shot if I don't get to her!" Booth replies, frantic now. "I need to get back into my body. I need to save her!"
Vincent sighs sadly. "Booth, she's going to be shot, regardless of what actions you have taken. It is an inevitability."
A fury rises within him now as he seizes Vincent by his coat, shaking him violently. "What do you mean, she's going to be shot? This is a gift, right? Someone's in trouble, she said. You have to save them. If I can't save her, what the hell was this for? Torture? Purgatory? Tell me!"
Vincent pushes back against his chest, surprisingly strong for such a lanky man. "Yes! If you will please stop attacking me, I can explain it all to you. Please!"
Booth reluctantly lets go, forcing himself to take a step backwards. "Explain," he snarls.
Vincent draws a deep breath - Do ghosts breathe? - and smooths his coat with his palms. "This is a gift," he insists. "One I worked very hard to give you which, when you're an Atheist, is rather difficult. But I managed it."
"You've left me flying blind," Booth snaps. "Making me live these days out of order, no logic, no understanding..."
"I have done nothing of the sort, although I find the use of the phrase intriguing, given that its origins are from World War II, when pilots were forced to rely on instruments instead of the horizon... And you are about to strike me again, which hurts even in death, so I'll simply point out that I have been with you, every step of the way."
Vincent points behind Booth with an expectant look. He obliges him, astonished by what he sees. Lily, the girl from the wedding; Jimmy, the old man from the bar; and the Patchouli Kid with the Lennon obsession. They all smile at him, nodding before slipping into the ethers of a fog rolling in around them.
"Brides in Finland carried pillowcases door to door," Booth says, astonished.
"And the Founding Fathers Pub was indeed founded by young fathers, one of them named Abraham," Vincent replies happily. "You haven't been alone, Booth. I've been helping you, guiding you."
Booth shakes his head. "But if this gift... If I can't save Bones, then what's the point? How is this a gift at all? She's being shot right now!"
"She is," Vincent admits sadly. "In a place I once held dear."
"Then who was I saving?!"
"Yourself, of course."
Booth stares at Vincent in shock, glancing backwards at his crumpled frame in the car. The accident... I die? Is this really how I end? His hand reaches out to touch the hood of the trunk, his fingertips cooled by the metal.
"You're the only one who can call her back," Vincent explains softly, his eyes welling up with tears. "The only one she'll fight for, as hard as she's going to have to fight. The first time we were here, you fell asleep, angry and hurt... and she gave up on the table. Her heart stopped and the doctors... there's nothing that could have been done. She believed you were tired of her in her last moments, that she was right all along: she couldn't be the woman you deserved."
"Shit," Booth whimpers, tears falling freely now as he slumps down onto the curb.
"But it's what happened to you without her - the grief and its ripples throughout your life, through Christine's life - that broke my heart. Love like yours, it's not common. Few people have endured what you both have and lived to live. It wasn't right. I knew it."
"Are you an angel?" Booth whispers.
"I'm your angel, I suppose. I've been watching over all of you. I've lived on vicariously. I never got to experience true love," he remarks sadly. "I wanted you both to have it. I want you to keep it, as long as possible."
Booth presses his face into his palms, struggling to come to terms with what the young man is saying. If she needs me to pull her back from death, then I need to make it to her. That hasn't changed. So what have I done wrong?
"I understand your confusion. It's because you've approached this all wrong. You've been experiencing these moments as a cop, attempting to solve a crime. To a lesser degree, and this was the point, as you queried, you've been living these moments as a man. A man in love with a woman. You've been forced to examine the consequences of choice."
Booth glances up. "Choice?"
Vincent nods firmly. "The butterfly effect, as science refers to it, made applicable to our life decisions. Each one creates a ripple that stirs us up, alters who we will become. The reason you chose to drink yourself into a stupor the first time is simple: you'd forgotten the core truths. You remember now the woman she is, the man you are. You understand that each choice, each challenge - it's what teaches us to cope with what lies ahead."
Booth rises slowly, contemplating this. "But if my choices impacted my life... No, you said this was me reliving my actual life... Did I undo attending college with Bones? Did we ever go to school together? Was all of this real or not?"
"In the end, does it matter?" Vincent asks. "Whether your mind constructed an alternate possibility during a period of unconsciousness or you truly changed history, the result is the same: you met in 2004."
"I need an MRI if I live through this," Booth mutters, visions of Stewie Griffin coming to mind. "Do I?"
Vincent frowns. "Do you what?"
"Live. Survive." Booth gestures to the car behind him, only it's not there anymore. The fog has claimed it, devouring the evidence. "Huh?"
Vincent's hand reaches out to squeeze his arm. "This is only one test. There will be other challenges down the road, difficult ones that will shake the foundation of your beliefs. Believe in your partnership."
The intern steps away slowly, his face suddenly ashen. Booth edges forward, sensing time is slipping from his grasp.
"I'm so sorry for what happened to you, Vincent. It shouldn't have been you."
"I know, and you have nothing to be forgiven for. There is a 20-Step Process Model of Forgiveness - did you know that? Seems far too unwieldy," Vincent mutters.
"Even now, the facts," Booth notes with a smile. "'Lime In De Coconut' was really your favourite song?"
Vincent chuckles. "'Coconut', to be technical about the name of the song. And yes, absolutely. My Mum and I used to dance to it while baking when I was a young lad. I would have liked to see her one last time..."
He glances up at the night sky, a sadness cloaking him now. The fog edges closer, tendrils beckoning him forth.
"Cherish every moment you have until there are no more. You never see the bullet that takes you down," Vincent sadly muses.
A blink and Booth is alone, crumpled on the floor of the garage. Above him, a punching bag sways ominously, almost taunting him.
"Huh?"
His hands are pink; he's clearly been working out. Taking out stress in healthy ways, he tells himself. His temple hurts and he winces as he rises to his feet.
"Bones?"
No answer as he continues to call her name, although Christine babbles through the baby monitor beside him. Her keys aren't on the counter, he quickly notices. Stacked in the sink are dishes: plates, a frying pain, a pot stained tomato red.
I still have time.
Sweets is nowhere to be found, but there's no more time to waste. He works quickly to dress his daughter, apologizing softly for the late hour. She doesn't fuss, much to his surprise. It's as if she senses how important this drive will be for both of them.
He buckles her car seat and double-checks the straps, echoes of the crash in his mind. Drive carefully, but quickly. Key in ignition, he guns the engine and checks the mirrors.
"Hang on, Bones. Just hang on," he pleads, reversing the car as he dials her cell phone.
No answer. Ignored call. There's time, he realizes as he passes a Pontiac Sunfire crashed into a fire hydrant. There's time as he rushes into the Jeffersonian, Christine in tow. There's still time, he tells himself as he swipes into the lab, immediately scanning the platform.
"Bones? Bones, you here?" he calls out gently, not wanting to startle their daughter. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? You're the best mother in the world." She has to hear this. She has to know... if it's too late... "I miss you. Christine misses you..."
But then, he sees her and realizes that there is no time. Because no one comes back from this much blood loss. No one.
"Oh my God..."
Alternate chapter song choice: Wake Up by Arcade Fire. A little trivia, Vincent style.
Yes, Vincent. When I first had this story pop into my brain, Vincent was there, insisting he be the one to keep together the couple that finally got it together after his demise. The rest evolved slowly.
I did drop careful, subtle hints of Vincent into each of his representatives. Lily cites facts about Finland weddings; Jimmy knows the trivia of the bar; and the teen in the church throws out a random song quote, one that is very telling...
And now... two more chapters. Does Booth finally have it right?
