A/N: I fell into a black hole called "reality." I'm still working on this, though.

Enjoy!

~Gum :)

Anchor (by Mindy Gledhill)

What Temperance wanted was time and space. Time to deal with the emotional deluge that pressed her on every side. Space so that she could compartmentalize and be strong for her family. The urge to run and seek both pulled heavily on her but the longer she stood rooted in the hallway just outside his door, the louder the voices filtering from the room sounded in her ears. Patient, clinical questions came one after the other but the replies sounded weak and confused. Gone was his sure, easy confidence and quick wit and while she couldn't make out his words she could sense the mounting frustration behind them.

Before long the compulsion to look in on him outweighed everything else and she covered the distance with a few short, quick steps. The bed was propped up so that was witting as a team of nurses swarmed about, running tests and taking readings. The cardiologist was there along with an anesthesiologist and two intern. As for their patient, he was still slightly pale, his face a mask of confusion as his eyes roved to and fro, never settling anywhere for too long.

She stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do next when his neck craned to see beyond the crowd of doctors. As their eyes collided the lost look in his eyes vanished, lighting up as a wide grin spread across his face. With new found resolve she steeled her nerves and strode into the room without so much as a side glance at those parting for her. His hand reached out as far as it could and she laced her fingers with his before turning to the doctors.

"Stop," her voice was quiet, but firm as her eyes sized up each of the doctors as if they were specimens in her lab.

Silence and a fair amount of squirming on the young interns' part ensued and she gave a curt nod of satisfaction before turning to her husband.

"Tell me what's happening," she invited him gently, then hurried to cup his jaw with her free hand and hold it so his gaze was locked on hers. "Tell me and nobody else, Seeley, the way we've talked a thousand times before."

"It doesn't make sense," his eyes weren't as clouded with confusion as they had been when he first woke up but he was still clearly disoriented.

"You're fond of telling me life rarely does," her lips curled into a rueful grin and for a brief second he seemed to smile back. When he said nothing, though, she prodded yet again, "Tell me. Tell me who you see when you see me."

Once more he opened his mouth and floundered for a response but found nothing. She could sense the growing tension in the room and knew the medical personal would only let her continue for so long before stepping in.

"Booth," she spoke their shared surname - the name of her friend and partner for the past decade - and in that moment she smiled as she asked him, "Booth what do you feel when you see me?"

Another pause fell but he was quick to fill the silence, "Safe."

A small sigh was released by several parties and Temperance nodded, confident she'd found the key, "Yes, your safety is of utmost priority to me and has been for quite some time. And do you recognize me?" Here she added for clarification, "I'm not concerned about my name, but my face, Booth. Does it feel familiar to you?"

His head bobbed up and down as she placed his open palm on her face. Their eye contact was severed when his eyelids closed, but his rough finger pads traced her smooth skin with practiced ease.

"Yes, Booth," she nodded into his palm. "You know my face as well as your own. Is there anything else you feel when you see me?"

Slowly his eyes opened, meeting hers and plumbing their depths while a single word fell from his lips, "Love."

Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan sat on the couch in her office, neither fully certain how to answer the question she'd posed.

"How did you know Mr. Sullivan?" the query tumbled out more to break the stalemate than anything.

He cleared his throat, "We, uh, we served together on this last tour. I helped him out of a few tough scrapes and he helped me. Sully," Booth ducked his head, brushing the short hairs on the back of his neck with his palm for the second time that night before releasing a sigh, "Sully had been down on his luck lately, so I-"

Bren watched him lift one shoulder and she understood, "You sought to ameliorate his financial woes by recommending him to a security position here."

His head jerked up, nodding as he earnestly sought her eyes, "I never thought he'd pull something like this."

The words were laced with self-deprecation and regret and she rushed to assure him she felt no ill will, "Of course you didn't. That much was evident in your actions."

"But you didn't know which side I was on," he accused her as much as he blamed himself. "I saw you when he dragged you in here. I saw your uncertainty."

She opened her mouth to defend herself. Closed it because she had no defense. "How did you know he would bring you here?" she asked instead.

"The fire was a diversion," he explained. "Once I figured that out it was a 50/50 chance between him heading here or for the exit; but this is where the vault is so I took a chance."

"You gambled correctly."

Booth nodded soberly, "I had no clue he'd bring you up here, though."

"He knew I'd have the combination," she muttered to no one.

"Right. You own the joint." His brow furrowed in thought, "That's why you sing, and tend bar, and run security, and manage the books, and do just about everything else around here, right?"

It was her turn to nod, though beyond that she wasn't sure what to add.

"Does Max own it with you?" he guessed.

Their debate about permits from earlier that night seemed ages away but she shook her head, "My father has no interest in The Lab except that it belongs to me. His opinion was that it would be an imprudent investment."

"Uh huh," he took this new information in stride as pieces of the puzzle of her fell into place. "Well you've managed to prove him wrong so far."

"So far," she gave a modest shrug. "I've certainly had help along the way."

Twin smiles broke out both of their faces at that remark and this time the silence that settled between them was one of familiar comfort. Booth leaned back, sinking into the couch as he considered the woman in front of him. From the beginning he'd known she was a firecracker; someone used to plowing forward and yielding to no one and he chuckled inwardly that one of his first thoughts had been that he pitied her boss. That she was the boss made perfect sense.

Seeing Booth relax made Bren's stress levels decrease markedly as well and she too sank back into her side of the couch. She surreptitiously studied his face as he stared off into the distance, noting the slight flaring of his nostrils and the quirk of his lips. He'd found something amusing, apparently, though she was at a loss to determine what that could be.

What neither one of them realized was that the further they became lost in their own thoughts, the closer they drifted together. His hand, still remembering her warmth and softness, found hers and linked them. Her body, fatigued from the battering it had received, leaned once again toward the safety of his arms even as her head pillowed itself on his shoulder.

When Angela returned to check in on her friend she found the pair sleeping, side by side, legs outstretched on the coffee table in front of them. Carefully, she draped a blanket over them, turned out the lights, and locked up the rest of the club, informing the night guard that no one was to disturb Bren in her office. She didn't mention Mr. B's presence, but couldn't help but hope this was a small sign that her friend's mystery man, might just turn out to be the guy Bren had needed all along.