Brennan was having difficulty in controlling her irritability. She'd been sitting in the waiting room in the hospital for hours and had yet to receive any information about Booth. He'd barely been prepared in their room inside the institute before paramedics were transporting him out. Regretfully she'd had to leave Christine with caretakers in order to follow. While idling her time she'd made at least three calls to check on her daughter. She had to imagine the staff was becoming fairly annoyed with her. Then again, whatever accident he'd suffered had been in their facility. So far as she was concerned they owed babysitting services to her, and a lot more.
Just as early evening was setting in did a doctor finally arrive. His first order of business was to introduce himself as Dr. Miller, and then apologize for the delay of informing her of his condition. "We had some difficulty in obtaining information from him."
She just nodded. "He was in a car accident some time ago, and suffered a severe head injury. He's undergone much improvement since then, but his speech is still iffy at times." She'd never thought about it, as for the most part she'd always been able to comprehend what he was telling her. But she supposed for others it may not have been that clear.
"I read about that in his record. He did well, considering. As I'm sure you know he was in the early stages of shock when he was brought in. Once the symptoms were treated and we were able to stabilize him did he tell us what happened. Apparently as he was returning from his morning swim his wet shoes slipped as he was hurrying upstairs. He fell forward, and his mind was slow to trigger a reflex. So by the time he reacted enough to put his hands out to brace himself he'd already had a collision. Both his sixth and seventh ribs were broken."
"Those are the same two he broke in the car accident. Dr. Miller, this has been a continuing problem. His former broken bones aren't healing properly. They're brittle. No one has been able to give me an answer as to why." She wanted to cry in aggravation. Booth didn't deserve to struggle with the pain. He'd put in his battle. He was due a respite.
"Well, I conferred with both his doctors at the institute and with Dr. Mullins. We've all come to an agreement that surgery is the last option for him. After that we can plow deeper into the reasons for his failure to mend."
She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed mournfully. "Surgery. I presume you'll be inserting pins into his rib bones, then?"
"That's the plan. His surgery is scheduled for first thing in the morning."
"Does he know? Did you tell him?"
"We did…" Dr. Miller hesitated. "But he was rather intoxicated by painkillers. Given that and the trauma he's been through today I'm not entirely sure he understood."
Of course. Her disapproval grew. "I'd like to see him, please."
"Right this way."
Booth was laying down flat in his bed when Brennan was let into his room. Before she'd completely reached his side his physical ailments called out to her. His eyes were closed. His skin had taken on the texture of wax paper and was grayish in color. Though his breathing was even he was just too still. Despite the fact that the damage wasn't nearly as extreme she was reminded of the first time she saw him after the accident. He wore the same look he'd had about him then. "Booth?" She laid her hand down over the fingers poking out of his cast.
His eyes opened after a long moment. The film over them indicated to her that her words would be wasted. The painkillers had taken him into another realm where pain couldn't touch him. She was sure consideration of his previous addiction had been forgone in an effort to alleviate his pain. She couldn't blame anyone, even if it did increase her worry over what was to come. Should they arrive at that bridge again it would be crossed one way or another. In the meantime, she had to do her best to make him grasp his situation. "Hi. How are you feeling?"
"Sore. I hurt bad. Or I did." He grinned gleefully. "Feels good now."
She half heartedly smiled. "You're undergoing surgery in the morning. They're going to open your chest and insert pins into your broken ribs. Do you understand?"
His eyes averted away from her. "Push back my treatment?" He wondered.
"Your physical disabilities, yes. But I can't see why your doctors would have to stop working on your cognitive abilities. In recovery you're going to need to rest a lot, and we are going to have to really be cautious in allowing you to engage in any activity. But," she quit while she was ahead. He'd stopped listening after the first few sentences. His ability to speak had improved, as had many other issues that had been plaguing him. But there was still much that needed to be worked on, including his attention span. "Do you understand, Booth?" She tried again.
"Yea." He frowned. "Will I get sick again?"
She had trouble conjuring what he was speaking of. At last she realized he meant when he'd contracted meningitis shortly after the accident. "No. And we'll see to it that nothing happens to you."
Reassured, he nodded. "Kay," his tone was more childlike than that of a full grown man.
"I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You've come a long way. And while this is a setback its far from an ending. We won't quit until you are healed, in both body and mind. We'll get there." She squeezed a few of his fingers affectionately. "I still will never be able to sum up enough words to fully relay how sorry I am that this happened to you. That I did this to you-"
"Stop." He lamely held up his opposite hand. "Time to leave the past in the past. It's done. We need to look forward now. No more… apol… apolog…" He struggled with the word. Finally with a sigh and a deadened gaze he settled with, "saying sorry."
She'd never stop feeling regret. But she was willing to adhere to his terms. "Okay."
"Good. Kiss me. Can't reach you."
At last she let out a soft chuckle of laughter. She leaned over the side of his bed and pressed her lips against his. "I love you."
"I know." He smiled.
In the morning Booth was taken into surgery first thing. Since Brennan hadn't been permitted to spend the night with him she'd gone back to the institute to sleep in their room with their daughter. Unfortunately by the time she made it back to the hospital he'd already been transported from his room. She'd missed her opportunity to see him. Dejectedly she headed down into the OR waiting room to fulfill the routine she was becoming used to.
Hours passed. Brennan did anything and everything she could think of to occupy her mind. She consumed so much coffee that she was uncharacteristically jumpy. Her heart raced from both her anxiousness over Booth and the amount of caffeine she'd poured into it. She foolishly found herself wishing she had some sort of remote control device that held power over life. If such a thing existed, she would have preferred to fast forward to the future, when all of this was safely behind them. The thought made her laugh, and after receiving looks of irritation from the families of other patients she knew she needed to sit down, and calm down.
Luckily, the giddiness didn't last long. By the time Booth's surgeon beckoned for her she'd fallen onto the other end of the spectrum. She felt depressed, and so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She sluggishly moved across the carpeting to where he stood. "How is he?"
"For the most part he came through the surgery with flying colors."
Her head pounded. She raised the butt of her hand to her forehead. "Colors don't fly." She paused. "What do you mean, "for the most part?"
"The surgery itself went fine. But when we went in we did discover some damage to the tissue lining his lungs. We did what we repair we could, but as a result he's having some difficulty with his breathing. We would have had him on respirator following a surgery like this anyway. He's going to be just all right."
She wanted to question the doctor's methods and assurances but was too tired to think for herself. "Is he ready for visitors?"
"He's in Recovery right now. I can bring you in for a second to say hello."
"Yes. Do that."
"It has to be fast, though. When he's in a regular room you are welcome to stay with him as long as you like."
She sniffed in disdain. Just let me see him, she thought. You've done enough. Then, sorrowfully, I've done enough to him.
Booth was still sound asleep in bed. He was cocooned in several blankets. Beneath his hospital gown she could just make out the outline of bandages taped against his chest. A tube had been inserted through his mouth down into his throat. Another tube had been plugged in through his nostrils. He breathed in a volume stronger than she would have expected, given his surgeon's summary of events.
She leaned over him. "Booth?"
The pulse monitor keeping track of his heartbeats skipped a beep. His eyes opened partly. Though he could do no more than stare there was enough evident emotion in his eyes that she knew he was happy to see her.
"You're going to be all right."
His eyes closed again. His hand weakly searched the area besides him in the bed until he located hers. Then he gave her fingers a tender, loving squeeze.
Yes, he'd be all right.
