A/N: It's almost 4am gee golly! It was worth it, this is the last chapter of part one. Hope it doesn't disappoint! The next two parts are definitely going to be shorter, though. I realized just how much unnecessary information I had in the earlier chapters, and I'm trying to fix those. I'll let you know when that editing's all done haha
Also, as you might note, the quote at the top of this chapter is where I got the title of this story from. RENT is an amazing show that everyone should see (I think it's all on youtube and I think the movie is on Netflix!), and this song is especially powerful.
You should also note that I pulled a line or two of dialogue from the film 50/50 (also amazing!). Just letting ya know! I hope you like how this part ends. Reviews and comments would be lovely:) Enjoy!
And when you're dying in America
At the end of the millennium –
You're not alone.
– What You Own, RENT
Week Twenty-Eight, Day Two | May, 2013
Late May in Washington D.C. is a small piece of a mild spring, with temperatures just bordering on warm-ish and a slight, green dampness in the air. The sky is grey, but not unpleasantly so.
It looks like rain.
Two car doors open and close, the sound echoing through the parking garage, bouncing off concrete walls. Seeley Booth locks the car as the two of them walk, outside and around the building to the front. A few misplaced raindrops fall onto the sidewalk, but no more; they don't walk inside just yet.
"You ready?" Booth asks, his voice quiet. The sounds of the city around them are muted, muffled.
Lance Sweets – twenty-seven years, ten months, and three days old – stands for a moment with his hands in his pockets and breathes in the air around him. He gently bites the edge of his lower lip and offers, "Well, if I'm not… It's a little late now, huh?"
Not quite true, but he supposes it doesn't quite matter. He could back out of the surgery last minute if he wanted to. He could walk inside and apologize to the doctors and shake his head and say, "No thanks. Not today." But he won't.
No, he won't do that.
Booth knows this just as well, so he smiles and agrees with him. "Yeah. Yeah, just a little late."
A bird chirps from somewhere far off before either of them says anything else.
"You're gonna be fine, Sweets. It'll go fine," Booth says, and the younger man just nods his head and looks away.
Before he can think of anything to say back, hands are pulling him into a rushed, near frantic hug; in a moment, Booth's arms are around his middle and his chin is on his shoulder, and it stretches on until they break apart.
It doesn't start raining until after they've finally gone inside.
He walks inside and sees his friends all collected in the lobby and thinks, see?
See the family you've got?
He thinks back to a time when he was healthy and alone. Back when he had April and his job and not much more than that. And soon after, he didn't even have April; she left his life, but somewhere along the line, he thinks that was a good thing.
He thinks he's happier now, anyway.
He supposes that things just come and go that way – people come and go. Largely, really, but that's quite alright. When people go, it's never for good. It's never complete. Regardless.
He hopes the people around him now stay for a very long time. He hopes that he does too.
They have him set up on a cot in a preparation room, just moments before everything is set to start. He's got his own scrubs on and another tube attached to his IV port and this one brief moment of reprieve.
Booth and Brennan are the only ones with him that aren't hospital staff. Nurses and technicians all come and go, some bringing forms for him to sign last minute, others kindly filling him in with details of preparation. His two friends, standing just to his right, are the only things constant.
Finally, the last form gets tucked away somewhere. The small collection of people moving about the room has been reduced to a single anesthesiologist, standing by the head of the bed.
"Alright, Lance, are you ready?" she says with a smile. "I'm here to administer your anesthesia, just like we discussed. Now just relax, I'm going to inject it into your IV. It'll take a few moments for you to start feeling it."
There's a hand on his shoulder that feels an awful lot like Booth's, and another, smaller one gently grabbing at his own free hand. He nods, just looking forward; he only hears the doctor moving behind him.
He hears the muted sound of it, the syringe sending the medication off – and as he does, for some reason he can't place, he is suddenly so aware of his own heart beating in his chest. It's irrational. He knows, but he feels the panic swell up in his chest and he takes a shuddering breath and asks, "Wait, wait, you're doing it now?"
A useless question. He knows the answer; he knows there's no turning back now, and the calm hum the doctor offers, the simple, "yes," just confirms it.
"Okay… okay," he says. He takes another breath. "Can you just – can you just remind me, how long does it last?"
"That really depends on the individual," she says kindly while another doctor appears by the curtain, quietly, politely instructing Booth and Brennan to head back into the lobby; hesitant, however – they don't move just yet.
"Okay, but – but how do you know –" his voice shakes. "How can you make sure that – that I'm going to wake up after? Or that I don't – wake up in the middle of… Dr. Brennan?"
He breathes her name because if there's anyone in the world that would have answers – ones he can trust completely – it's her. But instead of words, she rushes forward and hugs him as tight as she can, and as he returns it with all the strength he's got, he decides that that works just as well. Maybe even better than words.
He feels the drugs starting to work as she pulls away; she and Booth can see it, too. His eyes dilating just so, he lets himself lean back.
"I'm really sorry," the doctor says, then, "but we have to get Lance to the operating room."
Booth and Brennan nod, and as the cot starts to move as it's pushed, they both reach out – they grab Sweets' hand, his shoulder, both promising with their own respective words that he'll be just fine.
They promise that they'll all be just outside; they wouldn't leave for anything. And he'll be fine.
They finally follow the second doctor out towards the lobby, and as he closes his eyes, he decides that he believes them.
The drugs pull him under just as someone is strapping an oxygen mask over his face; he falls asleep to this, to the sound of wheels softly squeaking beneath him, to the sound of a larger door being pushed open. This is it.
He exhales, and is gone.
Brennan and Booth walk out into the lobby at a quarter past one, nearly to the dot, and find their place in a small group of friends in the corner of a waiting area.
He's fine, they tell everyone. Sweets is fine. Surgery is starting, and he's going to be fine.
"Yeah," Hodgins says, practically a whisper. "Yeah, but… what if he's not?"
It's a possibility they've all considered. In fact, going in – no one is quite sure what to expect. Yet another case of going in blind.
"If he's not…" Daisy starts, shifting in her seat next to Brennan. She sighs. "Then he's not. And someone will figure something out. We always do, at least."
She means the team. She means the incredible minds that have always managed to find a way through before. And she means Sweets.
"If there's anyone who can power through, it's Lance."
A woman in clean scrubs walks into the waiting area at around five o'clock; she goes largely unnoticed. People have been walking in and out all day, and if she hadn't called Booth's name, they'd have paid her no mind. But they look up.
Booth recognizes her. The surgeon Roden had recommended, the one he and Sweets met with just a few days before, is a slight woman with an experienced demeanor he trusts. He glances back at the rest of his friends for just a moment – and then he gets up and meets her by the door with a handshake and a rushed, "Hi."
"Hi, Mr. Booth, we've met before. I'm Doctor Shen. I wanted to inform you myself that Lance's surgery was completed about twenty minutes ago with minimal complication."
"Minimal?"
"Yes, we had to remove a very small part of his liver, mainly to ensure there wouldn't be any spread. That will repair itself in time, though."
"Right," Booth nods. "And – and the tumor. Is it…?"
The surgeon offers a smile.
"We believe… that we were able to remove the entire tumor. It did take a little longer than expected, due to its tricky placement, but we removed the mass as a whole. We will need to do a few tests and scans to make sure there's no more evidence of disease… but as of right now, I feel confident calling it remission."
Booth only just realizes his mouth is open, his jaw dropped just slightly. He manages to turn it into a smile. He thanks her, and for more than just the news.
When he turns back to face his family, he's got tears in his eyes. He knows what that must suggest. So he walks over, back into a tense, apprehensive silence, and breaks it once he finally lets out the breath he'd been holding for so long.
"They did it," he grins. "They got it. He's going to be fine."
She wanted to stay, just for a little while. A short time on her own. And she says so.
"Okay… yeah, sure," Booth says, only hesitating slightly. "Just give me a call and I'll come back and pick you up."
Brennan just shakes her head. "No need, I'll take a cab. It's fine. Thanks."
And Booth goes, along with the others. Soon it's just her, sitting on an odd plastic chair with her legs crossed. Her right hand is holding Sweets' left, gently enough to not bother the port.
The nurses on the floor have told her already that it's past visiting hours, but as long as she's quiet, they don't mind her staying. But just for a little while. And she's got no problem with being quiet.
Sweets has been mostly asleep the whole time. Well. Mostly.
When he wakes up again, she knows it will only be for a few minutes. Barely noticing her at first, he pulls his hand from hers to rub his eyes with the palms of his hands.
"Careful," she whispers. "IV is still in."
Upon hearing her, he carefully drops his hands back to the bed and looks her way.
"Hey," he says with a sloppy grin. Brennan smiles back.
"Hey, Sweets."
He takes a moment to look around the room, to note his surroundings, before he closes his eyes again. He keeps them closed as he says, "I had surgery today." And the way he says it, it's caught between a question and a matter of fact. As if he's pretty sure it happened, but just needs to check.
"Yeah, you did have surgery," she confirms it. He opens his eyes again and looks right at her; she doesn't miss the dilation, even in the low light.
"Did they get it?" he asks, and she offers a quiet little chuckle at first. She feels bad about it at first, but he doesn't seem to mind.
"Yeah, Sweets, they got it. Remember?" she asks. "They told you when you came out, and we all came in to see you?" And again when he woke up the second time. This is the third time he's receiving the same good news, though he doesn't seem tired of it yet.
"That sounds right… that sounds…" he sighs, then, and smiles again. "There's no more cancer in me?"
She nods.
"That sounds good," he adds, and moves his free hand over his stomach, as if intent on checking for it himself. Brennan quickly, gently pulls his hand away.
"Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself. You just had surgery there," she warns, but it doesn't quite make sense to him yet.
"It doesn't hurt, though," he says.
"Yeah, it doesn't hurt because they're giving you painkillers," she explains with an amused smile. "See the bag hooked up to your IV? There's morphine in there."
He follows the line with his eyes before he sees it. "That's not chemo," he says. Another question-fact.
"You're right, it's not. It's just there to make you feel better. It won't make you sick or tired."
His eyes close again and he lets out a breath. "I am tired, though."
"You know what I mean," she adds. "Different kind of tired. It's late; it's been a long day. You should be asleep."
He hums his agreement. "So should you."
"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I think… I think I'm going to go in a few minutes. I'm going home to sleep. But here –" she motions over to the nightstand, but he doesn't open his eyes to look. "We brought your things in, and your phone is plugged in right over here. So if you need something, call us. Okay?"
Another contented hum. "Okay."
"Okay," she says. Slowly, she stands from her chair and touches his hand once more. "Goodnight, Sweets. I'll see you tomorrow."
It takes a few moments before he smiles a small, lazy smile and says, "Goodnight, Dr. Brennan."
A pause.
"You know, Sweets," she says suddenly, just as she stands in the doorway. "I think… you can call me Bones. If you want to."
He turns his head to look at her one more time, and he smiles. "Nah… thanks. But that's not my thing."
She considers this. "Maybe we'll find a new nickname, then, if you want. One of these days."
Even exhausted – he thinks he'd be hard-pressed to call her anything but her title. It seems formal, professional, sure; but he stopped saying it that way a long time ago. Regardless.
Still, he offers her a smile as she goes and he starts to fall back asleep. He breathes.
"One of these days."
End of Part 1: Impulse