The next few days were pure Hell for Brennan.
Any time she was separated from Booth, it was difficult. But knowing the reason for their separation this time made it even harder.
From the house she drove him straight to the hospital. He was admitted at once. They shared a tearful goodbye where he'd surprised her by kissing her before he went. Then he disappeared with doctors who were much more advanced; who could provide much better care than Brennan ever could. She'd taken him as far as she could. Now she had to let go and trust the hands he was taken into.
For a few days she wasn't allowed to see him. Doctors' orders. And when she was permitted, he didn't want to see her. She tried not to take it personal. She knew he was upset, and likely angry with her. But it still stung her deep down in her chest.
"Sweetie? Are you okay?" Angela asked one afternoon as they sat together in Brennan's office eating lunch. "You haven't touched your salad."
"I'm not all that hungry." She pushed it away. Booth would make me eat.
Angela sighed. "This is because of Booth, isn't it?"
The Squints knew Booth was in the hospital. But only Angela knew the extent of it. Of what he'd done.
"He doesn't want to see me," Brennan agreed in a small voice.
"I don't think it's you, hun. I think it's everyone."
"I let him down. I should have done more to help him."
"Sweetie, sometimes loving someone is admitting you can't help them. The ultimate act of love is getting them help they need."
Brennan blinked tears. "I feel like I did something wrong."
Angela shook her head, not comprehending. "How so?"
"What if," she could barely speak the words. "What if I'd been too late, Ange? What if I'd lost him?"
Angela embraced her as she began sobbing. "You made it. That's all that matters."
Booth hadn't improved much. Even if she didn't see him his doctors reported his condition to her. Because of their close relationship she would eventually be involved in his treatment. She knew he was miserable in the hospital. His sleep patterns were erratic. Nightmares were tearing him apart now that he was away from her. He resisted the doctors' attempts to medicate him with sleeping pills. He turned down all medicines in general. He rebuked therapy. No one knew quite what to do with him.
In her dreams he called to her for help. When she tried to get to him he took off running away from her. He'd run until he'd completely disappear from her world. More than once she woke up sweating profusely.
She attempted to see him again one afternoon only to be again turned down by his doctor. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan."
"He doesn't want to see me?"
"No. He's asleep."
"Can't I please just go into his room?" She was asking a lot, and she knew it. "I won't wake him. I just need to see him."
"It's against hospital rules."
Brennan stared through tears down at the floor. "I understand."
The doctor relented. "Which is why you won't tell anyone I allowed this if they ask." He moved to let her inside.
Brennan was so grateful she could have kissed the man. If she did that sort of thing. Thanking him, she listened closely as he directed her to Booth's room. Then she rushed through the carpeted hall of the mental health unit until she found Booth's door. Inside she padded softly.
Booth was indeed asleep. He was laying down on his stomach with an arm draped over the side of the bed. Before even reaching him she could hear from his raspy breathing that he was trapped in the throes of another nightmare. He gasped hard. His hands were pulled into tight fists. His nails dug indents into his palm. His face was twisted up in infuriated horror. Sweat was near dripping off his forehead.
Brennan knelt down besides him. She wanted to touch him so badly. But she wasn't even supposed to be visiting him, let alone interacting. It was hard to stand by and listen to his nightmare get worse and worse without being able to do anything. He sounded congested, which struck her as odd. Finally he emitted a strange noise before coming to. He laid still except for the frantic movements of his breathing. His dull eyes took her in and softened.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't want to see me." She started.
He shook his head. "It's not that, Bones."
"Then why?"
"I'm too ashamed to see you after what I did."
"You shouldn't be." She argued. "You're sick, Booth. You can't help it."
"I don't want to be sick." His slurred words worried her. "I don't want to be here." He tiredly closed his eyes.
She wondered when he'd last slept longer than an hour. His appearance suggested he was hardly sleeping at all. "I know. But you have to be. You tried to kill yourself." Her eyes went to the bandage on his forehead. "They aren't going to just let you out. You have to work for it."
"I'm so tired."
He didn't just mean exhaustion, and she knew it. "Let them help you. Stop doing this to yourself."
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"They want me to talk about it." Talking with Brennan about his experiences was one thing. But talking with complete strangers about it frightened him. Talking about it made him relive it. And even in the safety of the hospital he wasn't so sure he could survive it. The idea of letting go frightened him down to the very core. He'd rather be dead than speak of it, which of course was how he'd ended up in the hospital in the first place. "Please," he looked at her with those eyes. "Just take me home, Bones."
It would have been so easy to give into his plea. But she resisted. "That doesn't work, Booth. I'm not going to risk losing you."
Booth was only half with her. He was suddenly trembling from head to toe.
"Booth?"
Booth couldn't stop shaking. He couldn't get warm. His teeth chattered. Goosebumps ran up and down his sweaty arms and legs. The blankets she'd given him to sleep on were balled together. He tried to bury himself in the middle of the pile. Constantly he sniffed as his nose ran constantly.
Upstairs the door opened and closed. Footsteps led down the stairs until they stopped in front of him. There was no movement. Just watchful eagle eyes.
Booth coughed, his chest rattling with the sound.
"What did you do now?"
He was too sick to care what she had to say. His fever was pushing the limit. "Bones," he cried for her. He was so delirious he could see her face clearly in front of him. She was speaking, but he couldn't make out the words. "Bones," he moaned again. "Can't understand you."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Help me. Please. I need…" his voice died down.
"I know exactly what you need. And it ain't help."
Brennan brushed her fingers through his hair. She could feel the heat from his scalp. Carefully she touched his forehead, his cheeks. He was running a fever.
She sat back. Slurred words. Fever. As she leaned forward again she noticed a needle mark on his arm. A fresh one, and one that was not anywhere where an IV should have been placed.
All along she'd always thought that he'd never survive in the hospital; that he was hell bent enough on self destruction that he'd find a way to end his life. That was one of the reasons she'd resisted admitting him for so long.
It was possible he just had a fever. His body had been ravaged enough that his natural defense system was compromised. But what if it wasn't? What if he'd done something to himself? Or, she was afraid to think it. What if someone had done something to him? It was unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility. For all they knew Amanda had more family out there somewhere in the world.
Regardless of whatever was the truth, she left Booth to seek out his doctor.