It took a trip to the hospital's gift shop followed by one to a nearby mall, but Brennan finally located a set of children's dominoes for Hank. Upon returning to his room though, she realized that the excursion had probably been unnecessary. Hank had begun to nod off, finally giving in to the systemic exhaustion she was certain he felt but had stubbornly refused to show earlier that morning.
She set her purchase down on a small side table and sat down quietly in the recliner next to him.
As she watched Pops slip into an ever deeper slumber, it slowly dawned on her that Booth's grandfather had probably been putting on an act for their-or more specifically, for Booth's-benefit. While he had undoubtedly rebounded somewhat from yesterday's relapse, the recovery wasn't nearly as thorough as she and her husband had been led to believe. Realistically, how could it?
An improvement so drastic would have been something akin to a miracle, and as she had told Dr. Freeman, she didn't believe in miracles. She questioned how all of them-including a seasoned physician-could have been hoodwinked so thoroughly by an ailing man close to fifty years their senior.
She quickly forgave herself for the oversight, smiling fondly at Hank's prone figure. She'd almost forgotten that her sleeping companion was a veteran of the parent-child wars twice over. If anyone could get others to do what he wanted them to do in an underhanded way, especially after having had to deal with the handful that must have been both Booth and Jared in their adolescence, it was probably Pops.
Hopefully, no harm would come from his insistence that Booth leave for the day and go spend time with his son.
But as the hours wore on and Hank's almost catatonic condition persisted, the scientist began to worry in earnest. While her charge would awaken for brief periods when medical personnel came by to check on him, the rest of the time he remained unresponsive, drifting in and out of a state that seemed too close to a coma for her liking.
It's why she was completely caught off guard when he suddenly sat bolt-upright in his bed, grinning from ear to ear.
"Seeley; look, Seeley-look who's here," he said excitedly.
Brennan's eyes followed Hank's towards the glass partition, but saw nothing.
"Hank, Booth isn't here," she reminded him gently, thinking he was still partially asleep and having a dream.
"Seeley," Hank insisted, his eyes wider and more aware than before. "Your grandma-she's so beautiful, she came to see me. It's been so long."
As Pop's voice trailed off Brennan noticed there were tears in his eyes.
Even with the knowledge that Hank was merely experiencing a hallucination, a cold chill still went up Brennan's spine. Hank seemed so very certain that his deceased wife was there with him, and so overjoyed to be in her presence once again, that his words were hard to dismiss.
It was an event she'd witnessed before during her many travels; people entering into trance-like states through a variety of means, and then ostensibly connecting with the spirit realm. Primitive rituals, homespun magic-in her expert opinion, examples of the power of drugs and suggestion over a trusting human mind saddled with its endless need to find meaning in an existence that didn't extend past the natural constraints of physical life.
But to see that phenomenon displayed here, in a modern, septic American hospital room with a man who was the embodiment of no-nonsense, solid pragmatism...
Brennan swallowed uncomfortably. It was a hallucination; it could be nothing else. She was allowing her husband's influence, and perhaps that of Daniel Oroyuma, to cloud her judgment.
"Hank, it's me, Temperance" she said a little more forcefully, hoping to rouse Pops from his vision before he became too agitated.
A pair of confused eyes looked at her, unable to focus.
"Temperance?" he said weakly.
She nodded reassuring, trying to sound as casual as she could.
"Yes, it's me, Hank."
"Seeley?"
"He's with Parker, remember?"
Hank seemed to be making an almost superhuman effort to understand her.
"Yeah, yeah" he finally replied, and Brennan saw his radiant smile fade.
"Are you alright?"
"Just so tired, so tired."
He closed his eyes again and reclined into his pillow, coughing shallowly, all the exertion his body could apparently handle.
After a few minutes of anxious scrutiny Brennan went back to her magazine, but she found she couldn't concentrate because something about the episode she'd just been privy to continued to nag at her. There was a perfectly rational explanation for Hank's behavior, of course; lack of oxygen, the medications, even the lingering effects of yesterday's anesthesia.
It's just that Booth's grandfather had seemed so certain...
Detecting a blur in the room, she looked up to see Hank's evening nurse.
"Dan!" she exclaimed, with an unexpected sense of relief. "I'm surprised to see you here. The other staff members mentioned that you had the weekend off."
"That's right, Dr. Brennan. But my boss called me at home to say that Mr. Booth wasn't doing too good. Gina may have her flaws, but she knows I'm very attached to the patients I care for. I came by to see if there was anything I could do for him, or maybe for you and your husband."
"You've seen his chart?"
The nurse's expression turned bleak.
"Yes; he had a very hard day yesterday, my poor Mr. Hank. They told me he might be doing a little better today, though. Right?"
Brennan studied her grandfather-in-law mutely.
"I thought so earlier," she finally said. "He seemed alert enough. He even convinced my husband to go to his son's science fair ceremony. Booth would never have left if he thought his grandfather's condition was this serious, and knowing how Booth feels about him, I certainly wouldn't have encouraged it. It's just that now...his oxygenation rates as well as his blood pressure and pulse keep going down. The change isn't drastic, but it can't possibly be a good sign."
Daniel went up to the monitors. After studying them carefully, he shook his head.
"No, it's not."
Brennan was determined to confront the facts-whatever they were. She looked over to Dan and held his gaze, in the hopes of getting the truth by being direct.
"How long?"
Bright eyes in a dark face contemplated Pops with sorrow and then travelled over slowly to his seated visitor.
"Probably not long," the RN admitted quietly.
"Hours? A day?"
"Only the good Lord knows our schedule and the time of our departing flight, Dr. Brennan. But I don't think this will go on much past tomorrow, at the latest; not in my experience."
The anthropologist looked down at her hands, wondering whether to bring the subject up and risk getting into another protracted philosophical argument over religion with the nurse.
"He...Hank believed he saw something, right before you arrived. I know he couldn't have, but I wasn't quite sure how to respond when he told me about it. I'm afraid I didn't handle the situation as well as I could have."
She let out a frustrated sigh.
"I'm not very good at these things," she admitted quietly.
"What did Mr. Booth see?"
"Thought he saw. He thought he saw his late wife; she's been dead for over thirty years. Hank loved her very much. I suppose it's only natural he would be thinking about her at the end stages of his life."
"They're coming to take him home."
Dan's factual tone made Brennan falter for a second.
"Terminal patients often revisit meaningful past experiences and relationships," she quickly countered. "I've always believed in being truthful, Dan, even in situations where lying or enabling might be by far the easier course of action to take. When Hank spoke to me, I wanted to explain to him that there was no possible way that his wife could be here, but I felt that wasn't...right. It didn't seem fair to take that illusion away from him, even if what he saw clearly wasn't real."
"I'm no Agent Seeley Booth from the FBI," Dan responded with a smile, "but I would say you did exactly what was right. For one, in Mr. Hanks's condition, it wouldn't serve any real purpose. But more importantly, our truths are not necessarily the truths of those who are leaving us."
"I don't understand."
"My friend is in a different place now; he's between worlds. What he sees, we're not allowed to see."
"Daniel, while I respect your and my husband's right to believe in an afterlife, I can't personally subscribe to that theory as an explanation for what I witnessed. When life ends, so does any form of self-awareness. Consciousness is only the byproduct of a sequence of complex chemical and electrical processes within the body, unsustainable once oxygen ceases to reach the brain. I can't accept that Hank's wife was in this room with him; it's simply not an idea I can entertain. The entire concept is irrational. It certainly can't be corroborated by any known scientific means, nor is it ever likely to be."
Dan continued to look at her calmly and Brennan began to feel ashamed about her chosen ideological stance, as if she were the one being unreasonable. But Dan wasn't judging her, Brennan told herself; he was only stating his views, exactly as she'd just done.
"You don't have to believe, Dr. Brennan. The only thing that matters is that Mr. Booth believes. If it happens again, talk to him about what he's seeing. Let him tell you about it. Ask him about his vision, anything you are curious about. I know that you're a scientist and that you've travelled all over the world looking for answers to all sorts of important questions; consider this your opportunity to get a rare glimpse of the other side," he added with a wink. "It's not something most people get to experience."
"Dan..." she admonished.
Grinning good-humoredly, Dan shrugged his shoulders.
"Just try it; I know it will make you feel better to see him happy. Can't hurt."
While she didn't agree with him on many things, she could still admire Daniel Oroyuma and the strength of his convictions. Not that she believed in ghosts, or ever could; but like Booth, her newfound friend had a way of making the improbable seem not only possible, but desirable. Besides, Dan was right. Playing along couldn't hurt-not now.
An hour later she found herself in the same impossible position as before.
"Seeley, she's back," Hank whispered. "And your dad's with her. You look so happy, son. I've missed you. Doesn't he look good, Seeley?"
This time, the anthropologist didn't argue.
"Yes Hank, he does. Are either of them speaking to you?" she asked tentatively.
"Nah-they're just smiling, but I know they're telling me not to be afraid."
"What else do you see?"
"Light, lots of light. It's beautiful-it's peaceful. Do you see it too, Temperance?"
The fact Hank was aware that she was the one with him and not his grandson surprised Brennan.
"I can't see it, Hank, but I'm sure it's very special. I'm glad you're getting to experience it, though."
"Tell Seeley about his dad; tell him he's all better now and he's sorry for everything that happened. Maybe Seeley can forgive him one day."
"I will."
As Hank's lucidity ebbed again, Brennan looked anxiously at her watch: 6:25. The awards ceremony wasn't over yet, and even if Booth were to leave the reception immediately, he wouldn't be back for another three hours-best case scenario. She held up her phone, eyeing it intently as if staring at its shiny, blank screen would provide an answer to her terrible dilemma. So many things to consider... How much time did Pops really have left? Would a call to Booth cause him-tired and jumpy as he already was-to head back at full speed on slick, darkened highways, possibly placing his own life at risk for the sole purpose of seeing Hank's come to an end?
She put the phone away.
More important than any other consideration, including her obligation towards her spouse, was the fact that Hank had asked her not to call; had ordered her not to call. And she, like Booth, had assured him that she wouldn't.
No call, no matter what.
There might be a punishment in store for her later for her possible act of defiance, but at this moment in time and in this room, the only thing that mattered were the final wishes of a dying man.