Buried with the Bones
By: Lesera128
Rated: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.
Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.
A/N: I found it appropriate to be posting this chapter today since it's... taa duh... October 12th. Yes, my friends, it's the day Booth woke up back in 1998. How's that for timing a story chapter's release? Now, on with the show...~
Chapter 24 – Booth Changes Brennan's Future
Through the crack of the windows that Booth had left open earlier that evening, so the pair could enjoy the refreshing fall weather while watching TV, Booth heard the wail of the muffled, but tell-tale sirens from the police cars, fire engines, and the ambulance that stood parked outside Brennan's building. The sirens shattered the stillness of the autumn night's crisp air, but, for some strange reason, they seemed to reassure Booth in their annoying constancy. Booth sat perched on a chair from the dining room table, unable to bring himself to sit on the couch where he and Brennan had made love just a few hours before. Glancing at the window, Booth saw the reflection of the red and blue lights blurred from several stories below. Combined with the wail of the sirens, and the fifty-pound anvil that had settled as a weight at the back of his head, to say that Booth had a bad headache was an understatement.
The apartment was awash with a flurry of activity as EMTs worked to stabilize Brennan's condition before moving her from the bedroom. Booth had already given a preliminary statement to a pair of officers from the DC Metro PD, and so he sat alone, just watching and waiting. Eventually, a shuffling of feet and squeaking of wheels drew his attention in the direction of the bedroom. As soon as he saw the first indication of the gurney, Booth shot to his feet, and, as soon as he moved, Booth knew had done it too quickly. Booth struggled to keep from letting the impending nausea overwhelm him. When the EMTs pushed the stretcher past him, Booth watched with his vision transfixed on one single image - that of Brennan's pale and inert body. He vaguely heard one of the EMTs talk, as he continued to bark out sharp statements about Brennan's vitals, while a second one pushed the gurney forward and past him. Although he remained where he was, Booth felt a new wave of helplessness wash over him as Brennan slipped by, and they pulled her further and further from him with each step they took. Blinking away tears as he glimpsed her bruised and battered form - now seemingly quite small and frail against the backdrop of the bright orange restraints that secured Brennan's body as they moved her - Booth again started to mutter a random prayer to the Holy Mother for divine intervention.
Please, don't take her away from me. Help her. Help us. Please, please save her. Please, Holy Mother, please-
As the stretcher rolled out the front door, and the EMTs pushed it down the corridor, Booth's last image of Brennan was the sight of her pale face splotched in blood. Although the EMTs had cleaned some of it up in their efforts to stabilize her, the image of Brennan's bloodied face dominated Booth's recall. When she was finally gone, Booth suddenly felt as if the brave and strong front he had been putting up for her was no longer necessary, and he doubted he could have maintained it for much longer, anyway, as his vision started to swim.
Brennan.
Blood.
Brennan. Blood.
Brennan.
Blood.
Blood. God, there was so much blood, Booth thought. Bren, oh God-
Although Booth didn't realize he was still standing, he was suddenly grateful when a reassuring arm came up beside him and kept him from staggering to his knees as he started to go down. "Hey, buddy, you hanging in there?" the lone remaining EMT suddenly asked, supporting Booth as he slowly guided him back towards the chair. The EMT had noticed that Booth was in shock as soon as they arrived, and he had been the only one who talked Booth into letting the EMTs remove Brennan from his arms so that they could treat her. The man's warm brown eyes looked on in concern at Booth, much as they had while he triaged Booth's injuries when he noticed the man was also injured.
Grateful, in more ways then one, and still holding the icepack that the EMT had had given him to the base of his skull, Booth nodded slowly at the EMT's words. Trying to reassure him, Booth said, "Yeah, I'm okay."
Narrowing his eyes in uncertainty, the EMT said, "You sure? You, uh, look a little woozy there."
"I-I... I'm okay," Booth said. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a bitch of a headache-"
"And, just FYI, one that's probably going to get worse before it gets better. We won't know for certain until we get a CT done-" the EMT interrupted.
"Brennan first," Booth repeated. "You take care of her first, and then you can poke and prod me until you're hearts, content, huh?"
"A deal's a deal," the EMT said. "I think you know we're taking good care of your girlfriend. But, I need to know how you're doing before we go."
"Like I said, bad headache," Booth admitted.
"Which will be worse tomorrow," the EMT repeated. "But-"
"But," Booth took the hint and continued to speak. "As long as I don't move too quickly, the dizziness isn't too bad, and I think I can keep myself from tossing my cookies."
Pulling out his penlight, the EMT went up to Booth and checked his pupilary response again.
"Hey!" Booth protested. "That's not helping if you don't want me to throw up. Quite trying to blind me, would ya?"
"Just making sure I didn't miss anything," the EMT laughed, clicking off the light and putting it in his pocket. "So, you think you can handle riding in with us?" the EMT asked. "Like I said, I can't be taking you with us if you're going to puke in my ambulance-"
"I'm fine," Booth growled.
"Okay, then, if you're sure, we're just about ready to go here. Like I said we would, we've stabilized your girl, and we're ready to move out. If you think you can keep from tossing your cookies-" he gave Booth a pointed look as he tossed his own words back at him - "I thought you might want to ride in the ambulance with us?" the EMT asked.
Nodding gratefully once again - a small part of his mind wondering if maybe the help he had prayed to the Holy Mother for had arrived in the form of this person standing before him - even if such actions and thoughts actually did make his vision swim a bit again, Booth said with a serious smile, "Just try to keep me away."
The EMT, a young man Booth judged to be about his own age, similar to him in both height and coloring, chuckled. "Wouldn't even think to try it. Now, if you're ready, let's head out, huh? We don't want to keep your girl or the crew waiting, right?"
Booth felt a swirl of something, a slight shift in his mental perception of things, as he processed the man's words. Weird, Booth thought, as he looked at the man - a person whom Booth would've sworn seemed familiar to him for some reason, but simply couldn't place no matter how hard he tried. Very weird. Obviously the EMT in charge, Booth had noticed the tone of authority and gave the man another nod in respect of his position. However, at that movement, Booth did feel a bit of nausea start to overwhelm him as the dizziness increased again while he struggled to force his brain to make a connection that just wasn't happening. Eventually, he gave up, but repeated his earlier assessment. Man, so weird-
Keenly perceptive as he watched Booth take a shaky step towards the door, the EMT asked, "So, you think you can walk all the way to the front door without falling down, or do I need to carry you?" The EMT shook his head, a slight jovial lilt coming to his voice as he spoke - perhaps to mask the concern, Booth thought - he added with a saucy wink of his eye, "I mean, I know you've got that hot girlfriend and all, but if you're really faking the dizziness enough just so that I'll help you out because I know you think I'm so attractive, that's cool."
"Ummm, you know, as much as I appreciate the offer, since we're not dating, I think I'll walk if it's all the same to you," Booth replied, feeling the sarcastic jib come naturally as he exchanged banter with the EMT. Booth appreciated the man's attempt to distract him, as he also sensed serious concern masked by the EMT's light teasing in their bickering.
"Okay, then, if you're sure," the EMT said with a bit more sure nod as he watch Booth take a more deliberate step towards the apartment's front door.
"I am," Booth said. He took a couple more steps, felt the EMT move into line behind him - perhaps to catch him if he stumbled again, although Booth couldn't say for certain. Suddenly stopping, Booth felt a shout of mirthful glee in his brain as he turned to the EMT and said, "Besides, you aren't really my type. I'm not really all that much into brunettes."
"Nice try," the EMT replied. "But, you forget. I saw that hot girlfriend of yours, remember?"
"Yeah, well. She's a special exception. Always has been. Besides, she's not really that much of a brunette. I'd say she's got enough auburn in her hair that you could argue she's a red-head," Booth said, exaggerating each statement just to try to better the EMT in their impromptu war of words.
"Nah uh, not buying it," the EMT responded, giving Booth a piercing look of grave solemnity.
Booth held his gaze for a minute, and he then looked away with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. Shaking his head, Booth knew when he was beaten., but still struggled not to lose. "Sorry, man," Booth snickered, no longer able to keep a straight face, but desperately trying to do so.
"Would it help if I told you I own several blonde wigs?" the EMT dead-panned, not missing a beat.
At this, Booth couldn't help himself as barked a sharp laugh and immediately felt a rush of pleasing and reassuring endorphins flood his system. "Hey, look at that, would ya? You made a joke. Not bad. That's not bad at all."
"I have been known to do that from time to time," the EMT chuckled himself, suddenly giving Booth a huge grin. He was glad that he had helped ease the tension Booth had been carrying with him, almost to the point of incapacitation, since they arrived. Nodding at the door, the EMT said with a small laugh, "So, whenever you're ready, buttercup, we can go."
Turning back to face the front door, Booth merely called his response over his shoulder as he began to walk. For some reason, and perhaps the EMT knew this, when Booth was concentrating on returning witty retorts, the dizziness and nausea weren't quite so bad. "Keep calling me buttercup, and you're gonna find out things about me that you really don't want to—" Booth volleyed back.
"Hmmm, now that sounds like an interesting offer," the EMT said, as they walked out the front door and into the hallway. As they made their way to the elevator, Booth pushed the button with his free hand, but still kept the icepack firmly pressed to the base of his skull as the EMT had instructed him to do earlier. The EMT was still watching him as they waited for the elevator. After a few seconds of silence, although the teasing in his voice was still present, he watched Booth with a critical eye and said quietly, "My name's Tim, by the way."
Looking at him with a firm nod, Booth smiled as he replied, "Booth."
"You're a funny guy, when you want to be, huh?" Tim the EMT asked.
"I can be," Booth admitted. "What about you?"
"Oh, I don't know. I've always kinda thought of myself as a lone wolf. know I'd be a gGreat person to be a straight man to, but I've never really found the right partner to pull it off with, you know?" he replied absentmindedly. The pair fell into another small silence as the elevator door opened with a distinctive ping. Stepping inside, this time, Tim the EMT pushed the button for the ground floor. Booth leaned back against the elevator's far wall. As they began to descend, Booth caught Tim's eyes and asked quietly, "So, ummm, Tim? You, ahh, you sure she's going to be okay?"
"Your girlfriend?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Booth nodded slowly, and he refrained from adding the immediate quip that sprang to his mind at Tim's words. Girlfriend, lover, soulmate, best friend, and love of my life.
"She's stable for now," Tim the EMT said. "I'm not too worried about things since her vitals are strong. But-"
"But?" Booth asked, the hopeless feeling he felt at the man's qualifier creeping into his voice.
"But," Tim the EMT said with a crooked smile. "Let's not dilly-dally, huh? You know girls, they can keep us waiting all night, but if we're late five minutes, you're never going to hear the end of it when she wakes up," he told Booth.
"And, you, sure she's going to wake up?" Booth asked, glancing at the EMTs name tag and noticing it read 'Sullivan'.
"Sure," Tim Sullivan told him.
"And, you're not just saying that?" Booth asked, fear clearly evident on his face. "It's okay if you need to tell me that I... I might lose her. I'd rather know now, actually, so that I can prepare for the worst case scenario-"
Chuckling, but sympathetic, Tim Sullivan the EMT said, "Listen, I told you that already, and I wasn't just blowing wind up your skirt. I'm not 100% certain, but I do think your girl'll be fine."
"Really?"
"Yup," Sullivan nodded. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"E-even with... with all that blood?" Booth asked quietly, hating himself for betraying some of his worry as he stumbled on getting even the first word out of his mouth. "God, there was just *so* much blood."
"Well, I know it looked pretty bad, but I've been doing this for a while now, and I'd like to think I'm pretty damn good at the job I do. Now, I can't say for 100% certain, but yeah, it's my personal and professional opinion that she'll be fine. I think she has some pretty bad concussions. But, the majority of the blood loss was from the gashes on her scalp. Lacerations to that area always bleed the worst. It looks really bad, but I promise, it looks worse than it actually is. We'll still need to do some x-rays to make certain there's no swelling to the brain, but once we stopped the bleeding, her vitals already started to stabilize by themselves. And, that's a good sign."
The elevator chose that moment to reach the bottom floor. The elevator doors opened with swoosh accompanied by a loud ding. Gesturing to the door, Sullivan said with a smile, "But, just to be on the safe side, let's get cracking, huh?"
Biting his lip again, Booth nodded. Before he moved to walk out the door, Booth smiled as he looked at the EMT. Extending his free hand, Booth grasped the EMT's firmly. "Thanks, Sullivan," Booth said, using the last man's name despite his earlier offer to let Booth call him 'Tim'. For some reason, using that name just didn't feel right, which is why Booth had gone with 'Sullivan' instead.
"Not a problem. But, do me one favor, huh?" the EMT said, as he made a slight face at what Booth thought might be his handshake.
"What's that?" Booth asked, releasing the EMT's hand before he exited the elevator.
"I don't really like it when people call me 'Sullivan'," the EMT said, following Booth out towards the ambulance. "It makes me think of my grandfather," he added.
"Okay," Booth agreed, immediately feeling sympathetic to men who didn't like their given names. "But, calling you 'Tim' just feels weird."
"Well, then, you can call me what the other guys do," the EMT said as they approached the ambulance. Gesturing where to sit, the EMT waited until Booth was seated and strapped it. He then confirmed with one of his other team members that Brennan was stable, before he took a moment to look back at Booth and added, "At least, you can if you want to."
"And, what's that?" Booth asked in true curiosity with the resumption of their prior conversation, as he felt the ambulance began to move after a couple of cops had firmly slammed the doors shut and secured them.
Meeting his gaze with another warm smile and reassuring nod, the EMT said, "Call me Sully."
About an hour later, Booth sat on a gurney in the ER while a nurse continued to irrigate and tend to the gash at the back of Booth's head. He was just about to give thanks for the fact that the constant pounding in his head had finally starting to recede to the size of 10lb-bag of ice, as opposed to the earlier fifty pound anvil. Booth supposed this change was most likely due to some of the topical anesthetic the nurse had used to numb the part of his skin where he was going to have several stitches sat the back of his head where Stires had hit him with the hammer. Realizing how bad he must look, drenched in blood, both Brennan's and his own, Booth knew he probably looked a lot worse than he actually was when Hank and Janie Lutrell finally found him.
"Booth!" Janie said, going pale at the sight of him. Hank hung back, surveying his best friend with a more critical eye than Janie, as he was more familiar than his wife in seeing Booth in such a state.
"I'm okay, Janie—" Booth began immediately. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"Oh, God, Booth. What happened?" she said, coming up to hug him. "What in the hell did you do to yourself? Are you okay?"
Moving one arm awkwardly to greet her, Booth gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she pulled back. "It's kinda a long story," Booth said.
Raising his eyes to meet Hank's, Booth knew his best friend immediately knew what had happened.
"Ex-boyfriend?' Hank asked seriously.
Leveling his gaze at Hank, Booth nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"What happened?" Janie repeated.
Still looking at Hank, Booth said, "I, uh, was leaving Bren's to come home, and we think he was waiting for me in the hallway. He attacked me, and then he went after Bren."
"So, I assume I'm not going to be getting back the 9mm then anytime soon?" Hank said quietly.
"No," Booth said, knowing what Hank was really asking him. "And, the answer to your second question is 22."
Pursing his lips, Hank said, "You okay with that?"
"In this particular case?" Booth asked. Hank nodded. Booth, his lips pursed for a minute, slowly nodded. "Yeah, Hank, I am. I know I shouldn't be. But, I'm more than okay with it. More than. Because, well, he was trying to kill her, Hank-"
"It was justifiable homicide," Hank said. "You did what you had to do to protect her."
"Not that I did a very good job of it," Booth muttered sadly, the frustration he felt at both the situation and himself clearly evident in his voice and word choice.
Somewhat oblivious to the undercurrent of the exchange between her husband and his best friend, Janie, always the more practical one asked, "Where is she?" Questioning him, she added, "Is she okay?"
Wincing a bit, Booth said, "She's upstairs with a neurologist. He, uhh, well… the EMTs assured me, it's just routine since she's lost so much blood, and it's a head wound, but they were worried about the intracranial pressure. She seemed to be doing fine at the scene, vitals were weak but stable. They started to get a bit worried though, when Bren wasn't as responsive in the ambulance as they'd hoped."
"She's going to be fine, Booth," Janie said, immediately taking on the role of being the group's reassuring bastion of emotional support.
"God, I hope so," Booth said, not letting the small knot of fear that he'd had in the base of his stomach since he felt Brennan go limp in his arms grow in scope and intensity again as he'd fought over the past hour to defuse it at every chance. "After all, you've still got to meet her, right?"
Janie nodded with a firm, but reassuring smile. "Definitely."
Coming up to his side, Hank gave his friend a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder as he said, "She'll be okay, Booth."
"I know, Hank," Booth agreed. Suddenly, at that moment in time, Booth knew his words to be the truth. He laughed what he was sure may have sounded like an odd cackle of relief, but it was true. Somehow, in that moment, he knew, and because of it, Booth knew things were going to be okay. Looking up at his friend, Booth continued, "I know she will. That's why I'm not freaking out more. I have faith… I know… in my gut, we haven't gone through all we've gone through just for me to lose her now. The hard part… we did that already. Now, this stuff? This is the easy part. She's going to be fine."
"She will," Hank agreed again.
"She's going to be fine," he repeated, but then, almost as if he was whistling in the cemetery, Booth added softly, "She has to be—"
Swallowing the lump that had come into his throat, Booth tried to push away the negativity. His heart… that's what he was supposed to listen to right now, right? And, if his heart said Brennan would be okay, then she would be. It was just that simple.
The first thing of which she became aware was the familiar comfort evoked, for the first time in her life, by a reassuring single word.
"Hey—" a soft voice called out to Brennan.
At the time, Brennan would have sworn in a court of law, backing up her testimony with a signed affidavit, that the gentle greeting hadn't been screamed at less than a level of 165 decibels. Keeping in mind that the average human speaks at a level of approximately 120-125 decibels, the loudest scream possible, being on par with the sound of a gunshot at approximately 128 decibels, the fact that Brennan wanted to assess the monosyllabic greeting upon which she had been met in the level of a jet plane engine's roar, gave some indication as to how badly her brain was working at the minute. She winced at the sound, but, she was also torn. She knew that voice, and Brennan suddenly desperately, desperately needed to see with her own eyes the source of the words that had been spoken.
Not feeling more capable to dare to open one of her eyelids more than a millimeter, Brennan was somewhat surprised when a wash of painful light *didn't* flood her optical nerve. Feeling a bit more confident, Brennan gingerly opened the rest of the eye, noticing how crusty and unused to felt, and slowly the darkness of her surroundings came into a blurry focus.
Brennan immediately felt her body relax as the first image that made any sense to her was the sight of a very unkempt and dishevled Booth sitting next to her hospital bed. He looked…well, like a man who had been keeping vigil at someone's hospital bed probably always looked like. Booth had been clasping something in his hands when Brennan awoke, and it took her a moment to realize that he had been holding a set of dark blue rosary beads. It would be sometime later that she would come to understand that Booth had been holding them as he used them to pray the rosary to the Holy Mother because of her. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and Booth's skin looked unusually pale and translucent. His chin was heavily stubbled with several days worth of growth. Just at the base of his neck, when his head tilted slightly, Brennan thought she saw the hint of a sterile white cotton pad held in place with gauze. However, the smile that light up Booth's face when he met her eyes seemed to make all the other details just a little less worse then they seemed to be in accumulation. God, how I love that smile, Brennan thought randomly.
"You've got a great smile," Brennan rasped. "But, you need to shave, Booth," Brennan ventured, tentatively. Her voice sounded thick and rough and a bit strangled from lack of use. She swallowed once and then added. "You look too scruffy."
A small bark of laughter escaped him, and Booth's eyes started to fill with tears as he said, "Do you want me to shave now?"
"No," Brennan answered truthfully. "Want… water? Throat's dry."
Moving towards her, Booth nodded, "It's been a while since you used it, so makes sense."
"Can I have some?"
"Whatever you want, Bren. Just as soon as the doctor comes in," Booth said. "It's, uhh, been a while, like I said. We've been waiting for you."
"How long?"
Booth took a slow breath in and out before he said softly, "Four days, almost five."
Brennan winced. Five days? How was it possible that she had lost five days? "Date?" she managed at last.
"It's, ah… the night of November 4th," Booth told her. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a watch that he had apparently removed from his wrist at some point. Looking at the date, Booth nodded. "Yeah, November 4th."
"What time is it?" Brennan croaked.
"About," Booth glanced at his watch. "Ummm, about, 2:30am, I guess," Booth told her.
"You're still here?" Brennan asked, a bit surprised. "Why?"
"I promised," Booth said simply. Reaching forward, he pocketed the watch and rosary beads before he took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. "I couldn't leave you, Bren. I promised I wouldn't, so I haven't."
"You stayed?" Brennan questioned him.
Booth nodded. "I haven't left you for a single minute since they brought you here from the ER. I, well, uhh, I even came with you when they took you for tests and scans. I'm not even gonna say how pissy a few of the techs got, but I made friends with a couple of your nurses, so they let me do what I needed to to do watch over you, so that I could... so that I could protect you."
"You did," Brennan told him. "You protected me. Saved me," Brennan then suddenly corrected herself, a bit of fatigue coming into her voice. "You did, didn't you? Saved me? It was you, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Booth admitted, squeezing her hand. "Not like I had any choice in the matter, now, though, huh?"
Brennan was too weary to shoot him the appropriate look of rebuke. Instead she inquired, "Why was I out so long?" Closing her eyes a bit, Brennan asked, "Tell me what happened?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Booth asked, his tone low and cautious.
"M-M-Michael—"
"Right," Booth said simply. "What else?"
"You had just left," Brennan said. She licked her lips a bit, still annoyed at how parched her throat felt. "And, I was getting ready for bed, I think. I remember... I was brushing my hair, and there was a noise. I thought it was you coming back, but it wasn't. It was... it was Michael—"
"He… he just snapped, Bren," Booth told her. "He ambushed me outside your apartment. Or, at least I think he did. I'm not really certain. I remember saying goodnight, and walking out the door, and then I remembered I had left Hank's gun on the table, and I wanted to go back to get it, but then, somehow... he must've seen me and hit me on the back of the head. The next thing I knew, I woke up on the roof of your building. I'm not sure, but maybe he planned to come back and finish me after he'd hurt you. Or, maybe he thought my head's a lot softer than most, 'cause you know I've got a pretty thick skull." Booth stopped, met Brennan's eyes as she opened them and smiled at him weakly. He nodded in approval. "At least, that's what Hank and Janie keep telling me. Huh? How about that? Having a thick skull was actually a good thing for me for one. He had a—"
"Hammer?" Brennan asked, her eyes snapping open as she cut Booth off. "He hit me, too, I think?"
"Yeah," Booth said, softly. "A tack hammer, among other things."
Brennan flinched. "He tried to surprise me. But, I thought it was you coming back because you had left Hank's gun on the coffee table. I was waiting for you. He caught me in the bedroom. I was sitting at my vanity, and he came up behind me. But, I heard him." She stopped, wincing in pain again as she recalled the thought. "Oh, God, Booth, if—" She stopped, suddenly tired, so tired. Yawning as she took a deep breath, Brennan forced herself to continue, needing to finish her thoughts. They were still a bit fuzzy, but the longer she was with Booth, the more she talked to him, the stronger she felt. "If I hadn't been waiting for you, thought you were trying to sneak up on me, he would have hit me at the base of my skull."
Booth nodded. "You moved just enough to deflect him. There was a struggle. Do you remember?"
"No—" Brennan breathed. "Just… oh, God, Booth…. Pain. He—" For a minute, the memory seemed to be too much for Brennan. "My head. It hurts," she finished lamely. "It really, *really* hurts."
"Bren, he... he still hit you with the hammer," Booth told her. "The first blow hit the back of your head. It grazed the occipital ridge."
At this, Brennan looked at him curiously. "And, how do you know that?"
"Because I made the doctor repeat it to me six times so I'd remember it so I could impress you when you woke up and asked," Booth smiled. "It work?"
"You mean if the whole saving my life thing hadn't already?" Brennan replied. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Consider me duly impressed, Booth. *Duly*."
"Excellent," he said, his smile getting bigger. He squeezed her hand again before his smile faded, and he whispered, "God, Bren, I was so scared."
"You saved me," Brennan said. "You… and Michael?"
"After he hit you the first time, it wasn't the exact blow he had planned. It was enough to knock you down, but not knock you out. He... he was standing over you when I found you both. He… hit you several times, Bren, but the worst part was… he slammed your head, your forehead, into the bed's foot board," Booth told her, grimacing as his eyes shut involuntarily as he recalled the sight. "God, Bren. There was blood… *so* much blood. And, you were unconscious and so small in my arms, Bren. So, so small. I, ah, oh God, Bren—"
She reached out her other hand using what energy she could to touch his fingers, wrapping her free hand around the one he was still clasping. Booth's eyes looked off into the corner as he seemed to be stuck in the memory of seeing Brennan just after she had been attacked. Feeling the need to pull him back to the present, back to her in the here and now, Brennan squeezed his hand as she spoke.. "Hey."
Booth looked up at her.
"I'm still here," she smiled. "Because of you, I'm still here."
"I know," Booth said, lifting their joined hands to his lips. In a move that delighted Brennan, as it remined her of their first date, Booth kissed her hand softly as he confessed his deepest fear. "I do know that, now, Bren. But, for a few pretty desperate minutes, I thought you weren't. I thought... I thought you were gone. And, I didn't know what I was going to do about that. I-I was so scared. I don't know what I'd do if you were... if you were gone. I don't know if I could handle it, and I thought... God, Bren. I thought I'd lost you."
"Never." She paused and then twitched her nose which made her wince. "Ugggh. Blunt force trauma to the temporal, parietal, or sphenoid bones," Brennan murmured. "Microfractures, I think, since my face doesn't feel like it's on fire when I move it."
"Well, you're on some pretty heavy duty pain meds, Bren," Booth admitted. "You've been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days or so. The CT revealed some minor swelling to your brain. They've been waiting for it to go down, and that's why they kept you under for the first couple of days. Since then, the swelling on your face has also gone down, and while the bruising's already started to fade, it still looks pretty nasty."
"This you're way of telling me I'm not attractive any more, Booth?" Brennan teased lightly.
"God, no," Booth said. "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Liar."
"About that? " Brennan nodded. Booth shook his head. "Nope. I'd never lie about how gorgeous you are," Booth said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. "Never."
Looking at him, and seeing the side of Booth's head as he leaned down to kiss her hand again, Brennan saw the back of his head clearly for the first time. "He hurt you, too, didn't he?"
"Tried," Booth admitted. "Like I said, he conked me on the back of the head when I left your apartment."
"Not very original, is he?" Brennan murmured. "How bad?"
"Not too bad," Booth told her. He then smiled sardonically as he said, "And, it's *was*, Brennan." Booth held her eyes as he corrected her again. "*Was*... not like it matters, much, though."
"No, it doesn't," Brennan agreed, concentrating on the last part of Booth's comment. "I could've told him how thick a skull you've got."
"Oh," Booth chuckled. "Miss Brennan made a funny."
She smiled weakly at him. Suddenly, her foggy brain catching up to her, Brennan frowned a bit as she said, "Was?"
His smile disappearing, Booth nodded. "He's dead, Bren."
"You killed him, didn't you?" Brennan questioned in a very soft voice.
Slowly, Booth nodded. "He was trying to kill you, Bren. I.. I didn't have a choice. I shot him—"
"It's okay," Brennan said, closing her eyes with a soft smile, again thinking how tired she was. "It's okay. I'm glad you did it. Glad you did."
"I had to," Booth told her softly. "I… he was trying to hurt you, kill you… and I couldn't let him do that. I had to protect you, keep you safe."
"You did," Brennan sighed. "And, I'm glad." She stopped and looked up at Booth. "What did the police say? You're not... you're not in trouble are you?"
Quickly shaking his head, Booth said, "No. It... it was pretty clear to them once they saw you, and saw me, the tack hammer... I'm not going to be charged. I talked with one of the federal prosecutors... her name was Jules, or Julius, I think... Julian, maybe? Anyway, she told me it seemd to be a pretty clear cut case of non-criminal homicide since I was defending you. The amount of blood alone was enough to justify my actions. So, no, I'm clear as far as that goes."
"Good," Brennan said, the approval clear in her voice. "I'm glad."
"You know," Booth said, thinking back on the interview. "Now that I think about it, that prosecutor? She was actually pretty funny. I think she may have been from Louisiana because she kept calling me cher."
"Booth?"
Turning to her, Booth inclined his head by way of an initial response. "Yeah, Bren?"
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Suddenly, as if he had just fallen a part like a house of cards crumpling in the wind, Booth's smile faded. A somber look replaced it as he shook his head. "I wasn't. For a while, afterwards? I couldn't… I couldn't lose you, Bren. I just couldn't," Booth told her. "And, I thought I might. Because there was blood, so much blood-"
Opening her eyes, still feeling very tired, she smiled. "You aren't. You won't. I'm still here."
"You have no idea how happy you saying those words makes me feel, Bren," Booth told her honestly.
"You know what you could do to make me really, really happy, Booth?" Brennan asked, suddenly smiling again.
"Anything you want, Bren. Just name it."
"Water? Ice chips? And, some spring rolls, maybe?" Brennan bargained.
Booth laughed. "Okay, why don't we start with the ice chips, and I'll see if I can go find out what's taking the doctor so long, huh?"
"Good plan," Brennan breathed. "I'll wait right here."
Standing, Booth reluctantly let go of her hand. Brushing an errant strand of hair away, Booth said, "You scared me, Bren. For a while… I thought… I though I'd lost you all over again."
"Never," Brennan smiled. "I already told you, Booth. Never happen. Never—"
Quite certain she wouldn't be making such universal absolute declarations but for her weakened and drug induced state, Booth couldn't help but feel a blossom of hope swell in his chest at her words. She was right. He'd protected her. He'd saved her. Brennan was alive, Stires was dead, and Booth was still there to see it.
It was November 4th, 1998, and Brennan was still *alive*.
He'd done it.
He'd protected her, he'd saved her.
He'd really done it.
The hard part was over. Now, now all he had to do was the simple things… like finding her doctor, water, ice chips, and a Chinese takeout place that would deliver at 2:30am in the morning. Yup, suddenly, things didn't seem so hopeless and impossible after all… but for the Chinese takeout part.
-TBC-