A/N - Alright guys, this is the third update in a week. I'd love to say that they will always come at this same speed but I'm not making promises. I love to write, I really do but so many times real life gets in the way of things and I can't update as quickly as I would like. That being said, this is the longest chapter I have written in quite a while. I hope it meets your expectations.

I will try to update again in a few days. I have this all worked out in my mind. Getting it into coherent thoughts is another thing.

Thanks you all so much for your reviews on the last chapter. I'm glad so many are still enjoying the story. When I started it, I didn't intend for it to be this long or in depth, but it turned into that so I just ran with it.

This is another rough chapter for Brennan. Yes, I love to write hurt/sick Brennan (I'm evil, I know). Mostly because I love caretaker Booth and because we never see her that way on the show. I do intend to get Brennan out of this little mess soon but I'll warn you that it won't happen just yet. As I have promised before, it will all work out soon and when it does there will be smiles on many faces, including my own.

Please continue to let me know what you think. Reviews, comments, and questions make me smile.

Thanks so much to MickeyBoggs for proofing and to Stef for being my idea bouncer. I am not sure what this story would be like without the help of these gals.

Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 52

At 8:00, about 15 minutes after Cam arrived, the other employees began arriving at the lab. Brennan would have been in around 8:30 if she had kept her usual therapy appointment. Cam knew from the X-Ray that therapy wouldn't be in her routine for a few weeks. She'd need to remain fairly still which she was sure would be a huge undertaking for the extremely active anthropologist. She felt for her coworker, she really did. Her ankle was already severely injured and now she'd added a few broken ribs to the mix. She only hoped she would actually take the time to care for herself. Broken ribs could lead to major complications if a person didn't take it easy.

Cam headed into the autopsy room and began to work. Angela, slightly late as usual, came in around 10:00. "Hey Cam," there was something different about her voice so Cam popped her head up. She was surprised to see the forensic artist's normally bright eyes puffy and red.

"Hangover?" Cam asked.

Angela cleared her throat harshly before speaking. "I wish," she followed up with a cough. "Typhoid Mary from the emergency room last night loaned me some of her pathogens," she explained. "I feel like crap. It sucks too because Hodgins and I went back to his house last night," she laughed a little. "You know. . . there are still 4 rooms we never. . . "

"WHOA! Stop now. Discretion, please," Cam stopped the forensic artist dead in her tracks. She did not need details. She'd seen videos and that was more than enough to last her a lifetime.

Angela coughed and then snickered a little. "Sorry . . . It was just. . .," she had to pause to come up with words. "Let's just say there is a huge chance that Hodgins will develop this cold as well."

Cam just rolled her eyes. 'Things sure can change quickly around here,' she thought to herself before Angela's statement even clicked. "Wait, what?" her voice conveyed a shocked tone as the word hospital finally registered. "Did Booth have to take Brennan to the hospital again after the search?"

Angela sniffled again. "No, it was Booth. He was grazed by a bullet. He's fine," she explained. "Nichols just did something stupid and called Brennan. Bren totally freaked out when Nichols called her. Booth's new partner conveniently left out the part where Booth was alive." She froze as she said the name of her best friend. "Wait a minute, Brennan's not here yet?" she asked.

Scrambling to come up with an answer that would not break her vow she made to Brennan, Cam stammered slightly before she answered. "Ummm. . . No, she's not in yet. I. . . I think she has therapy," she began to feel a little more confident that her excuse would work. "Doesn't she usually ride in with Booth?"

At that exact moment, the studly FBI Agent crossed the threshold of the door. "Ride with me where?" he asked loudly.

Cam busied herself in hopes that no one would question her or even notice she was in the room. She jumped slightly when Angela greeted Booth. "Morning, Special Agent Man Meat," she kidded but nearly sneezed in his face. After she'd recovered from her sneeze she chastised him. "You know, if I hadn't been in that waiting room for so long last night, I wouldn't be so miserable this morning," she wiped her nose with a tissue. "This cold is your fault."

Booth looked at the forensic artist and felt slightly sorry for her. She really did look like she didn't feel well. "You do look a little sick, Angela. I'm sorry," he finished.

Angela shot him a simple smile. "Thanks," she coughed a little. "You should be sorry. It's your fault that Hodgins and I couldn't make it to the veranda this morning," she kidded.

Booth and Cam just shook their heads. Cam knew that it was probably too early for Angela to be sick from an encounter with an emergency room patient. She figured Angela knew as well but was just seizing the opportunity to pick on Booth. She did sound pretty congested so she figured she should at least extend the offer for her to go home. "Angela, if you feel like you need to go home, you have my permission," she said.

"Thanks, Cam," Angela said. "I think I'm going to go lie down in my office for a while. Hopefully, this headache will go away and I'll be able to work."

"Feel better, Angela," Booth said before getting to the important matter. "Where's Bones?" he cut his eyes back and forth between Angela and Cam. One of them had better answer.

Cam was completely silent and directed her attention to the tissue on the table. She just hoped Angela would have the answer and she wouldn't have any explaining to do.

"She's not with you?" Angela stopped as she was about to exit the autopsy room.

Booth immediately became worried. "She sent me a text message and said she'd made 'ALTERNATE' arrangements for therapy," his tone was concerned. "I assumed you were the alternate. I had to fill out a few reports this morning to wrap things up from yesterday. I just thought I'd swing by on my way to a lunch meeting," he got off the main point for just a second. "Did you pick her up this morning?"

Angela broke off into a coughing fit for just a second before answering. "Damn it, whatever this bug is came on quick," she said. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Sorry, Angela," Booth felt obligated to acknowledge the artist's obvious discomfort but she wasn't his primary concern at the moment. "Now, about Bones?"

Angela nodded. "She called me last night and this morning," she explained. "I was busy and she was being a little melodramatic so I told her we'd talk today. You know how Brennan is. She has to work things out on her own before she can let anyone else help her out." She was confident as she spoke. She'd been her best friend for a long time and knew, as much as Brennan hated to admit it, she was a very emotional person. "I just figured you were bringing her in."

"Where the hell is she?" he questioned.

*******

Brennan was finally lying on the cold paper of the exam table. She'd removed her top several minutes earlier with the assistance of the nurse. She'd also helped her get the wrap off of her chest to reveal the injury after chastising her for wrapping them in the first place.

"You know that can inhibit your ability to draw a full breath," she'd said as she rolled the ace bandage neatly and placed it with Brennan's other things.

Brennan nodded as the nurse recorded a few things on her chart. "I know," she winced. "It is just quite painful at the moment," Brennan explained.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know. It's a pretty nasty bruise," she said as she patted Brennan's good leg. "When's the last time you took pain medication?"

Brennan had closed her eyes to attempt to relax. She didn't bother to open them as she answered the nurse. "Around 5:30. I took the maximum dose of anti-inflammatory," she explained. "I didn't take any narcotics since I knew I would be driving." She felt the absence of the narcotic at the moment too. She assumed any remnants of the Lortab were quickly depleting. The pain was increasing every minute.

She'd been doing so much better with pain management once she passed the 2 week post-op mark. She was just beyond the 4 weeks post-surgery mark and she knew she had taken a huge step backward. At a previous appointment, Jameson had switched her to a much lower dosage of the narcotic since it wouldn't inhibit her as much while working. She'd never even taken a pill though. The night before, however, she was thankful that she had a half a bottle of full strength Lortab left over. The low dosage would do nothing to stop her pain.

The nurse was surprised at Brennan's response. "You drove yourself over here?" she questioned.

"I didn't have very many options," she stated. There was a distinct sadness in her voice as she spoke. "I realize that medicating me further would be your normal course of action and while that would be quite appealing at the moment, I would prefer to wait on any medication until I arrive home."

"Alright, honey," she said. "I'll tell Jameson. I'll be back with an ice pack for your ribs and Jameson should be in shortly." She exited the room, returned briefly to help Brennan situate the ice pack over the affected region, and then left to attend to another patient.

Twenty minutes later, Jameson knocked on the door and entered. He immediately saw Brennan's attempt to sit up so she could discuss things with him. "Temperance, don't sit up. I'll go ahead and examine you and then we can talk. Let's go ahead and get that cast off," He reached into the drawer and gathered a few things he needed and, as if on cue, a technician entered and began to assist him.

They got the cast off without causing Brennan too much pain. The technician made his exit and Jameson began to check her over. "How's the ankle," he asked as he picked it up and gingerly checked it over.

"Hurts," she said very matter-of-factly. "I'm nervous I damaged a screw. The pain was excruciating the moment I put all of my weight on it," she went on. "I know it's irrational since I cannot change what has already happened. . . owww," she trailed off as she spoke too deeply causing discomfort in her ribs. "Sorry," she knew she didn't need to apologize but did anyway. "I know it's irrational, but I am quite apprehensive about the whole situation since I think I felt a snap as I fell," she explained.

Jameson gently placed her foot back down and marked a few things in her chart. "That's to be expected. Many people are hypersensitive about joints they have injured. It's one of the biggest things to overcome during therapy – fear of re-injury," he said as he rolled the stool up and sat beside his patient. "It does look like your swelling and bruising have increased since I saw you yesterday. You feel up to some more X-Rays in a few minutes?" he asked.

"I'm quite certain that is a rhetorical question since I have no real choice in the matter. I need the appropriate treatment. That being said, I am not feeling up to anything but an amputation and nerve block," she was doing her best to make light of her current situation.

He cracked a slight smile at the always literal Temperance Brennan. "I understand. You must have some incredibly strong arm chairs," he said as he stood. "Let me go ahead and finish my exam and I'll get your X-Rays ordered and get you home and into your Lay-Z Boy."

"I don't own a recliner," she was too exhausted to elaborate further. She just hoped she was right and that he was referring to a recliner Booth had mentioned several times before.

The doctor was still working as he spoke. "You may want to consider investing in one," he said as he sat her ankle back on the exam table once again. "I'm sorry," Dr. Jameson said softly. "This is going to hurt."

She nodded turned her head to the side and prepared herself for the pain.

Jameson was a very experienced doctor but there were some things that were just painful. No matter how careful a person was, examining newly broken ribs was one of those things, especially, when more than one rib was involved.

In the course of the examination, Brennan winced, she cried, and managed to only audibly groan 3 times. She considered that successful. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only actually 10 minutes, Jameson had finished up the examination.

"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news," he began. "Let me help you sit up and I'll explain everything." He stood very close to her and supported her back and shoulders as she managed to get to a sitting position.

Brennan couldn't help but be sad. She was so used to Booth assisting her in situations such as these, she was disappointed. She knew, logically that he couldn't always be there and he shouldn't have to be there all the time. She was a strong, independent woman. She could handle things herself.

The doctor gave her a few seconds to gather herself before he spoke. "The good news is that your ankle still seems stable so I doubt you broke a screw. I'll have to confirm with X-Rays but I'm sure that you won't need another surgery." That was the extent of the good news.

"You ready for the bad news?" he asked.

Understanding that he didn't expect a real answer, Brennan simply nodded.

Jameson took a deep breath. It was always hard telling patients they would need to slow things down for a few days, especially those as stubborn as Temperance Brennan. "Your ankle is going to need some more rest. You are going to need to get it elevated and iced as if you just had surgery," he explained. "I'm going to put you in a high tech cam walker. It's a new model and is not covered by insurance. That's not a problem is it?" Already knowing what the answer would be, he paused as a formality.

As expected, the anthropologist shook her head slightly. She didn't care if it cost her entire book allowance. If it would get her out of the doctor's office, drugged up, and comfortable sooner she'd do it.

"Alright, good. You are going to need to remove the boot every couple of hours and either ice that ankle for a half hour or put it in the cooling unit," he wrote a few things on a pad as he spoke. "Just take care of it. I'm putting you in a boot so that you can ice it and because of your swelling," he spoke in a firm tone. "There will be a temptation to walk on it. I have to warn you, though; if you put your weight on it again you may not be lucky." He honestly didn't know how she managed not to break a screw. The ankle was still stable and that's all they needed.

She again nodded. She completely understood. Even though she didn't believe in luck, she was thankful that she wouldn't require a major intervention to repair damage her stupidity caused to her joint.

He handed her a paper that had some notes on it. "You need to keep that ankle elevated at all times unless you are on your crutches. Ice it when you can. Boot stays on at all times except when you are perfectly still," his firm tone was still in place. "If you need to go to the restroom, boot goes on first. The last thing you need is someone running in to you or slipping and inverting that ankle."

"My ribs," she questioned. She knew to be careful with her ankle. She'd follow the guidelines.

"Fractured," it was a simple one response that said enough. "Your X-Rays, even though I'm not sure how you managed to do them on your own, were probably accurate based on my physical exam. It's hard to tell about your 6th rib. I want to get a couple of angles to know for sure," he explained.

Brennan nodded. If she'd only injured her ribs she would have simply done the X-Rays herself and gone back home. She didn't need him to confirm fractures. She did breathe sigh of relief that she hadn't damaged the screws in her ankle, metaphorically speaking since breathing wasn't her strong suit at the moment. She probably overreacted to the pain she experienced and allowed the irrational fear of re-injury cloud her thinking. She hated how she had let her rational mind get confused with emotions lately.

"You are going to have to take it easy for a few days," Jameson instructed. "Treatment is the same as long as you didn't break 4 or more ribs. You'll just going to need to watch out for the signs of complications," he paused briefly. "Where's Agent Booth today?" The question had been lingering in his mind since he received Brennan's phone call almost 2 hours earlier.

"Oh," she stammered. She obviously wasn't prepared for that question. "He . . .um. . . he's busy working with a new partner and received a minor gunshot wound to his arm yesterday," she was trying to quickly form the answer before she seemed like too much of a damsel in distress. "I would assume that he is resting or completing paperwork on the case he closed."

"Ah," he replied. He didn't know the anthropologist very well but could tell that the answer was manufactured. "It's not a wise decision for you to be doing everything for yourself. Those crutches aren't going to facilitate healing. You're going to have to stay put as much as possible."

"I'll be fine," she was rather blunt in her answer. "How many days would you suggest that I stay home?" She didn't need another person dictating a schedule for her but figured she would at least take his suggestion.

He pulled his stethoscope from around his lab coat pocket and took a step forward. "For the ankle, I'd say you could return to work on Monday if you stick to desk work and keep it elevated. Ice it if you feel like it's swelling," he explained. "For the ribs, you need to let your pain dictate what you do. If you can't comfortably breathe, aren't sleeping well, or have stabbing pains on movement, don't work," he said as he applied the stethoscope to her chest to listen to her heart. "Heart rate sounds good," he immediately switched the stethoscope to her back.

Brennan was quiet as he moved the stethoscope to the four different locations on her back. She waited patiently, fighting the urge to cry. She just wanted to go home, take a very large, very powerful pain pill and go to sleep.

"Deep breath," he said. As a doctor, he understood the reason to have them draw a full breath, but as a person he hated that it would bring pain.

Those words startled Brennan. She knew what would come if she complied. She, however, was a rule follower so despite the pain she did her best to breathe in.

Jameson listened and sighed. "A full one," he said with compassion. Obviously the pain had stopped her too early. "Deep breath and hold," he said.

Brennan closed her eyes and did as requested. She held it and every millisecond the pain in her chest increased. She instinctively wrapped her left arm around her rib cage but it didn't help. 'How long am I going to have to hold this damned breath?' she thought to herself. She was sure he'd made her hold it for at least 2 minutes. In reality, it was less than 10 seconds.

"Your lungs sound good," he removed the stethoscope. "You are going to have to be very careful though. You are going to have to make a conscious effort to take a few full breaths every hour. You understand what the potential complications of broken ribs are, correct?" He could see the tears welling up in Brennan's eyes from the pain and didn't see the point in filling her ears with things she already knew.

"I understand," she managed to choke out. Her voice was weak and winded.

"Let's get you over to X-Ray," he stood as he talked. "You want to me to get a wheel chair for you?"

That simple question told Temperance Brennan that she was displaying weakness. She most certainly wasn't weak. "No," her answer was strong and direct. "I can do it."

'Damn, stubborn,' Jameson thought to himself as he reached and handed her the crutches.

*****

Forty-five minutes later, Brennan was seated back in the original exam room. Her X-Rays had confirmed exactly what Jameson expected. The screws in her ankle were still in place but she seemed to have loosened the joint slightly. He was confident that it would still heal sufficiently since there was no real diastasis. She would have to be extremely careful not to injure it any further and was back to square one in the areas of pain management and swelling. She'd have to cut back on therapy until the screws were removed and an MRI confirmed the complete healing of her anterior tibiofibular ligament. In the long run, the outcome would still be the same; she just wouldn't be able to regain any range of motion prior to removal of the screws.

She also had her answer about her ribs now. As expected, her 7th and 8th ribs on her left side both received oblique fractures near the anterior angle. Her 6th rib only received a hairline fracture closer to the midline of her body. She immediately visualized the manner of impact in her head – once a forensic anthropologist, always a forensic anthropologist.

The few moments of quiet while waiting were awful for her. She wanted someone with her but that was out of the question. Maybe later that evening she could call Angela. If she wasn't too busy with Hodgins maybe she wouldn't mind coming over and bringing her a few things from work.

She was mentally making a list of things to do in her head: stop by the pharmacy, grab some take out, call and update Cam. The errands made her hurt just thinking about them. After she finished, she'd be able to rest. That was easier said than done. Resting would be quite an undertaking because of her ribs. She could just call her furniture store and have them deliver the most expensive recliner they had in stock in chocolate brown leather. It would coordinate well and she assumed, if she paid them enough, they would deliver it immediately. She added that phone call to her to do list. She was lost in thought and the door opening startled her slightly and disrupted her thoughts.

"Alright, sweetheart," the nurse from earlier spoke in a soft, compassionate tone. "Let's get you into this new boot." She placed a light-gray colored boot on the table. She reached into the drawer and pulled out a thicker version of an ace bandage. "You'll probably want to keep it wrapped at all times unless you are showering," she explained. "You'll probably be much more comfortable without that fiberglass cast. We just got these in yesterday," she cut her eyes to the boot. "They are the newest innovation for post-surgery patients," the nurse seemed to be excited about the hard, plastic cast. She handed Brennan a booklet explaining the cast. Apparently, it was an adaptation of competitive ski boots in Europe. It vowed to provide all the support of a hard cast with the added comfort of being removable.

After reading just the first fold of the pamphlet, Brennan tucked it into her purse. As she did, she noticed her cell phone. She pulled it out and looked at the display, 27 messages. She was about to flip through them when the nurse began to speak.

"Just wrap it like you would a typical sprain," she said as she made sure Brennan's bandage was secured. They spent the next few minutes going over how to put the boot on and add or remove air to make it more secure. "As your swelling goes back down, you'll have to add more air," she said.

Brennan nodded as the nurse clicked the final two latches on the boot. "Dr. Jameson will be right back in to get you out of here so you can go home and rest. If you have any questions, just call us."

Just as the nurse said, Jameson came right back in. He gave Brennan a new prescription for the maximum dosage of the narcotic she had been taking, a spirometer she was supposed to use hourly to force herself to breathe, and a few info sheets on rib fractures. He informed her that he would cancel her therapy appointments for the next two weeks to give her body the opportunity to heal. He wanted to see her back in another week to check on her ribs. He left her with yet another stern warning about keeping an eye on her broken ribs.

She rolled her eyes slightly. She didn't need anyone telling her that they were coming in to cold and flu season and not taking deep breaths would make her more susceptible to infection. She knew all that. Anyone who had ever passed microbiology would know that. She honestly just wanted to go home. It was one of the few times in her life that she didn't desire to work, she didn't desire to write, she just wanted to rest.

"You're all set," Jameson said. He considered warning her about driving but knew she wouldn't listen at the moment. Her mood was definitely different than what he was used to seeing. Hopefully she'd get things worked out before too long.

She thanked her doctor, made an appointment for her next follow up and left. On her way out, she checked a clock. 10:30, she was long overdue for pain medicine and sleep. She felt her cell phone vibrate, once again in her purse. She considered returning phone calls but opted to wait. She'd do it later. Getting home was her priority at the moment. She knew it would be a process and she didn't want to take any longer than necessary.

*****

Booth was currently pacing in Angela's office. It was almost 11:00. He and Angela left Cam in the autopsy room to her work. They went straight to Angela's office and the artist didn't waste a lot of time before climbing on her couch and covering up with a blanket. Both of them had their cell phones in their hands, neither of them knowing what to say. "Angela, seriously," his tone was one they didn't often hear. "Where the hell would she be?"

Angela didn't seem overly concerned. "She might be with Max or maybe she had a book thing. Did you try her apartment building?" she questioned.

"Doorman said her car's not there," was his answer. "I'm glad I know the guy," he went on. "He told me that she called him and said she would be receiving a delivery in a couple of hours. She gave permission to let them into her apartment if she wasn't there." He paced more as his frustration mounted. "Why the hell is Bones buying furniture?"

Honestly, Booth was worried. He wasn't sure what he had done or said, but he knew that it was something. He saw the fear in her eyes the night before when she entered the hospital room. What surprised him, though, was the abrupt change in her eyes just before she left. They didn't display fear any longer. There was a different look in them, one of loss. He'd only seen that look one other time, when she watched Max and Russ drive off leaving her handcuffed to a chair. She'd lost her family again that day and her eyes told the whole story. 'Why would her eyes have that look in them yesterday,' he thought to himself. 'I'm her family. I didn't leave her. I'm still here,' he sighed and ran his hands through his hair as his thoughts went in one million directions.

*****

Brennan managed to order a top of the line recliner over the phone, get her prescription filled, pick up a take-out container of lentil soup from the restaurant Booth liked because someone named Mama always added her special ingredient, and make her way upstairs. She did allow doorman to assist her with her bags and arrange for the valet to park her car. On the way to her apartment, the doorman explained that they had delivered her chair just 15 minutes earlier and the delivery man left a card for her on her counter. She wasn't much up for small talk, but thanked him as he set her bags down, provided him with a nice tip and closed the door behind him as he quickly made his exit.

She was thankful to be in her apartment. She looked at the clock on her microwave. It was now almost noon. She managed to eat some soup, take her very large pain pills, and settle herself in her new recliner under her favorite blanket with ice on her ribs and ankle.

She'd turned her phone off in the car when it kept ringing. Now that she was settled, she pressed the on button and it rang almost immediately.

She pressed the answer button and gave her typical greeting. "Brennan," she said. She was mindful to watch her tone. She didn't want to give any indication that she was in pain. She knew Booth would pick up on it in a second if she did.

'BONES!!! What the hell? I've been calling you for almost 2 hours,'his tone was furious as he spoke. "Where the hell have you been and why did you miss therapy?' His questions flowed quickly.

"Calm down, Booth," Brennan said. "I had to go in to Dr. Jameson's office this morning and had several errands to run afterward," she explained flatly. "This is the first opportunity. . . "She winced involuntarily. 'DAMN IT!' she thought to herself. "This is the first opportunity I've had to call you," she finished in a very controlled fashion.

'What's wrong?' his tone immediately changed. He'd heard her wince. 'Are you okay? Why did you have to go see Jameson? You just saw him yesterday.' He was becoming more worked up with each one of his questions.

"I'm fine, Booth," she lied, completely and utterly lied. It was the only thing she wouldn't be able to shade the truth about. "Jameson switched me to that new anti-inflammatory and it isn't helping. My swelling and discomfort has increased." She planned her words very carefully. She didn't lie. She just didn't reveal the entire timeline. "He has recommended that I stay home to recuperate for a few days and avoid complications," she explained, still not lying.

'Are you okay? Do you need me to bring you anything?' He didn't care about his lunch meeting with the assistant director that was supposed to begin in 15 minutes. If she needed something, he'd get right on it.

"No. Thank you for offering, Booth." She kept a very professional tone. "I am going to rest for a while. If you need any assistance with work, just let me know. I'm sure I will feel up to looking over a few things later if my expertise is required."

'Bones, I really think I should come over and check on you,' he was really worried. There was something different about her tone. She hadn't spoken to him like that in several years.

She just wanted to get off the phone. She didn't know how much longer she'd be able to manage the dry tone through the pain. She could feel the tears threatening to fall, again. She'd shed too many tears for one day. She knew if she did let them fall she wouldn't be able to keep him away. He'd be able to pick up on her tears from the other end of the cell phone. "No, Booth. There is no reason you should worry about me. I have everything I need," she stated and then gave him what she knew would calm his nerves. "As a matter of fact, I am already quite comfortable in the living room. As soon as we end this call, I plan on napping."

Booth ran his free hand over his face. She was one damn infuriating woman. He was worried, but if she was claiming that she was fine, he knew not to push it. He'd check on her later. He wouldn't let her have a choice in the matter. "If you say so, Bones," he conceded. "BUT," it was a huge but. "I'm coming by later and bringing you some dinner," he let a small smile adorn his face. "I need to see whatever this new furniture you ordered is." He knew that would bug her.

'How the hell did he know I got a recliner,' she thought to herself. 'You know what, it doesn't matter. I'm too tired for it to matter,' she decided before answering him. "Fine, Booth. Just don't expect me to be very social. I'm extremely tired and didn't sleep well last night."

Booth was satisfied. He'd check on her later. "Alright, Bones. Just call me if you need anything."

"I'll manage on my own, but thank you, Booth. I will talk to you later," she said dryly and then clicked off her phone. She let out a slight sigh and then covered her eyes with her arm. She was in one mess of a situation.

She stayed in that position for a few minutes but soon the pain medication was beginning to pull her under. Her thoughts didn't have the full opportunity to get away from her. In just a few minutes she was asleep.

When Brennan hung up abruptly, Booth just looked at his phone. He knew something was up but couldn't quite put his finger on it. He glanced over to the couch and found that Angela had fallen asleep. He'd call her after lunch and get her to call Brennan to see what she could get out of her best friend. He headed out of the lab for his lunch meeting. His mind was anywhere but work.

****

Booth spent the remainder of the day half-focusing on paperwork while worrying about his real partner. He'd met with the Assistant Director about a new training program he would be assisting with at Quantico. Cullen had recommended he teach the class. It was to be centered on evidence collection and collaboration with laboratory representatives. He would be spending the next couple of weeks developing some training materials. He'd need to be out of the field that long to allow his arm to heal anyway. At least he could be productive during that time.

The best part of the meeting came when the Assistant Director informed him of a training class in a few days to be held in the Anchorage Bureau. Apparently, they were doing some amazing work with forensic evidence collection there. 'I didn't realize they did anything at the Anchorage Bureau after September,' Booth thought to himself.

Booth's superior seemed to be mulling over the decision of which 5 new agents he should send since it was a long trip and a pretty cold time of year in Anchorage. Booth automatically seized the opportunity and signed Nichols up. 'That should be a nice learning experience for her,' he thought to himself while trying to withhold a smile. At least she would be out of his hair for a few weeks. He wasn't sure if it was vengeance, animosity, or a prank but he liked it. He'd threatened her with Alaska if she screwed up. At least this way she'd think he was serious.

Around 4:00, he couldn't suppress his alpha male tendencies any longer and he called Angela. She informed him that she had talked to Brennan and would be going by after work. She had no intention of staying long since she felt like crap, but would check on her and let him know if she needed anything.

"Thanks, Angela," he had said. "I really appreciate it. There is a meeting about Parker's hockey league at 6:00. Tell Bones I'll come by after that," he sighed. He hated to hold off that long, but he was helping to coach Parker's team and the season started the next week. He had to go.

*****

Brennan spent the entire day sleeping, icing her injured body parts, and groaning in pain as pain meds wore off before she was allowed another does. Around 5:00, Angela came by. She wasn't amazing company and barely noticed a change in Brennan's movements or mannerisms. Brennan hated to be thankful for her friend's sickened state, but if it helped her disguise her own condition, she'd take it. She wasn't up to two interrogations in one evening and was sure that Booth would give her one.

Angela did apologize quickly for ignoring her calls. Apparently, she and Hodgins had picked right back up where they left off. She promised to tell her all about it when she wasn't sneezing every few seconds.

Brennan did advise her friend to see a doctor if her symptoms didn't improved. "Jack already told me that he was making me go if I kept him up coughing tonight," Angela had replied. "I'll probably go in tomorrow before I go in to work."

They watched an episode of some sitcom about young adults living in a New York apartment building. Brennan didn't get it. Obviously, there was no way that any of those people could afford an apartment in Manhattan with the salaries they would make in their line of work. Honestly, she wasn't even sure any of them worked. 'This is why I don't like television,' Brennan thought to herself. 'I feel as though my IQ would decrease if I watched this repetitively.'

Angela took her leave around 6:30. She kissed her friend on the cheek and vowed, if she felt better, to come by the next day so they could actually talk.

*****

Booth knocked on her front door around 7:45. He'd finished at Parker's league meeting, grabbed some Thai, picked up a few things at a bakery, and headed straight to Brennan's. He was nervous. He didn't know what was going with her at the moment. Whatever it was, it bothered him. Over the last month, he'd managed to get her to accept his help. They had some wonderfully intimate moments and he didn't want anything to hurt the progress they were making.

'Maybe I need to just go ahead and talk to her, tell her how I feel,' he thought to himself. He wanted to tell her. He just wanted her period. 'If she's not ready, telling her will ruin everything,' he conceded internally as he walked up her stairs. He decided to watch her closely and if she seemed ready, he'll talk to her. If she seemed reluctant at all, he'd wait.

Luckily for Brennan, she had just woken up after a quick nap that began as soon as Angela left and managed to change into some pajamas just before Booth arrived. Since she'd been up and about, she didn't have to worry about quickly disposing of extra ice packs or anything in order to hide her condition. While getting ready, she defied doctor's orders and rewrapped her ribs in anticipation of Booth's arrival. She knew he'd notice if she was in a lot of pain and she didn't want him to see it.

She managed to work through her emotions throughout the day during her wakeful periods She convinced herself that missing Booth was irrational and that she could take care of herself. She didn't need him doting over her because he thought she was in pain. It would only cause her newly walled in emotions to rise to the surface.

Booth didn't wait for her to come to the door when he knocked. He just used his key and opened the door as he had many times before. He entered quietly in case she was sleeping. He immediately saw her. "Hi, Bones," he said. "Feeling better?"

"I am doing satisfactorily considering the interaction I experienced," she had planned that response. Technically, her ribs contacting the arm of her stylish chair could be considered an interaction- again, not a lie.

He grimaced a little. "You need anything?"

"No," she answered. "But I hope you don't mind if I sit down. I am quite tired."

"No, I'll get our food. . . WHOA, Bones? What is that?" He finally allowed his eyes to stray from his partner long enough to see the new recliner.

Brennan shook her head and let the first smile of the day form on her face. "That is my new recliner. It was delivered today. It is quite comfortable," she explained.

Booth's eyes lit up like a little boy in a LEGO store. "Can I try it out?" he asked.

"Sure, I'll sit on the couch. I need to do some work on my laptop," she said. "I am sure I have a few emails to answer from my publisher."

"Thanks, Bones," he was still smiling. "You go ahead and sit down and I'll bring you some food. I brought Thai and snicker doodles." He held the white paper back from the bakery up and gave her a charm smile.

"Thanks, Booth," she said with a smile as she turned toward the couch.

At that point, Booth noticed the boot on her leg instead of the usual cast. "What's with the space boot, Bones?"

"Apparently my interaction," again not a lie, "has caused my swelling to increase and Dr. Jameson wanted to place me in a removable cast to facilitate ice therapy and elevation," she said as she gingerly eased down onto the couch and turned sideways so that her legs were stretched in front of her on the couch. Earlier, she set several pillows up on the arm to prop herself and had a few pillows ready to elevate her ankle. She knew her partner well and figured he would need to try the new recliner.

She wouldn't admit it, but sitting on the couch hurt her immediately by putting too much stress on her injured midsection. She was in an odd position. She could tell him what happened and he'd immediately allow her to occupy the chair, but that would entail telling him what happened and admitting weakness. She chose to accept her own discomfort in order to avoid the emotional breakdown she would have if she admitted her feelings at the moment.

Booth studied her from her kitchen as he got a few things ready. "It looks bad, Bones." He noticed some increased bruising above the wrap and on her toes. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Booth, I am fine. I just need to get some rest and stay off the crutches as much as possible."

"If you say so, Bones," he gave up pushing and handed her a plate before situating himself in the new recliner. "Bones, seriously, this chair. . . this chair is like heaven," he leaned it all the way back and turned on the massager. "I could get used to this." He was pushing buttons. "It even has a fridge unit in the arm." He got more excited with each word. "Do you have anything other than the Moroccan ear wax beer?"

She laughed at him a little too hard causing a pain to shoot through her ribs. She immediately grabbed the pained region and then cut her eyes to Booth. She quickly saw that he was messing with buttons on the chair and didn't notice her lack of composure. "Of course I have cheap American beer, Booth. It's in the fridge." She didn't offer to get it for him like she normally did. She didn't want to move. She had rested quite well in the recliner but the couch was too hard and the straight angles placed additional pressure on her ribcage. She didn't know how long she would be able to stay on the couch without groaning from the pain.

They ate in silence, less the occasional laugh from Booth in regards to a new feature on the chair. Brennan picked at her food. Her appetite wasn't strong since she was in a good deal of pain. She managed to eat a partial serving of noodles and a snickerdoodle. That would be enough to keep Booth off her back for the time being.

Booth finally spoke. "Bones, mind if I turn on the NHL channel?" He asked and studied her a little. She was hiding something. He knew it. He could see it in her eyes and her guarded mannerisms. She just thought she built effective walls.

He decided at that very moment that he couldn't talk to her, not tonight. When he did tell her, the moment had to be exactly right. Telling his feeling to Bones would be like his job as a sniper. You had one shot and one shot only. Screw things up and you'd never be able to go back. He wasn't willing to risk losing her forever because of bad timing.

"You sure you're okay there Bones?" he prodded. "You look a little uncomfortable."

She nodded. "Yes, Booth, I'm fine," she said before changing the subject. "I don't mind if you watch the ballgame, Booth. I'm just going to finish up with these emails." She carefully replaced her plate with her laptop on her lap and began sending emails. She sent one to Cam, updating her about her interaction. She also emailed her publisher confirming some upcoming deadlines.

He smiled and studied her again as she cut her eyes back to her laptop. "Okay, Bones," his tone indicated that he wasn't going to accept her answer in the long run but would give her the time she needed. "Oh and Bones," he laughed. "Hockey is not a ballgame," he said and gave her a charm smile. He stood and cleared the plates as she worked. When he was finished with the dishes, he settled back into the greatest piece of furniture ever made.

*****

Two hours later, Temperance Brennan was miserable. She hurt and she was still sitting on the hard couch. Every muscle in her chest burned with pain and her ankle throbbed. Each breath amplified the searing pain. She looked over to the recliner and saw Booth fast asleep. He fell asleep about an hour earlier while still watching the hockey game.

She hated to do it but she was going to have to wake him up. She couldn't handle another sleepless night. She'd already skipped many of the doctor's instructions like using the spirometer on schedule and wrapping her ribs. She wasn't willing to forgo sleep tonight though. She wanted to and needed to rest.

She replaced the boot on her ankle, carefully stood, and walked over to Booth. "Booth, . . . Booth," she shook him gently.

His eyes popped open. "Bones, are you okay?" he said before even wiping the sleep from his eyes. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"You have nothing to apologize about, Booth," she said as she made her way to the kitchen to take her next dose of medication. "I just figure that while comfortable, sleeping in the recliner would not be good for your disc condition."

He ran his fingers through his hair and followed her into the kitchen. "Yeah, . . . Thanks, Bones," he said wanting to asked her why her brow was furrowed from pain. "I better get going. I have a lot of work to get done tomorrow."

She was thankful getting him to go home hadn't been a struggle. In just a few minutes she'd be able to relax. "Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it," she finished.

He headed toward the door. He had to resist the urge to make physical contact with her. For some reason, though, he could tell that she wasn't up for that at the moment. He knew something wasn't right. Something had happened. He just still couldn't put his finger on what caused it.

"I'll call you around lunch tomorrow." He looked her over for any indication about the problem. His efforts turned up nothing, however. "Take it easy and call me if you need anything, okay?" he finished.

"Yes, Booth, I will call you if a situation arises that I cannot handle on my own." Her speech was still very dry.

He simply nodded. "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth. Thanks for the company," she said as he made his way to the door.

She watched as the door closed and the lock clicked as Booth locked it from the outside.

Since she was finally alone, Brennan unwrapped her ribs, took her medication, and headed to the recliner with two large ice packs.

She sighed as she realized that the chair was still warm and Booth's presence lingered. She draped the throw over herself and situated the icepacks in the appropriate locations taking comfort in the cool relief they brought.

Just a few minutes later, she closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to come so the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind would stop. She did her best to take a deep breath and when she did she noticed something, something lovely and painful at the same time – Booth's scent.

His scent was all over her throw blanket. It was so strong that it overpowered the once strong scent of new leather that earlier filled the room. It made her smile slightly but the smile quickly became a frown when she realized it belonged to someone she couldn't have.

She had mixed emotions about letting him leave a few minutes earlier. Her emotions wanted him to stay. They wanted to tell him everything and let him help her get comfortable. She wanted to allow him to rub his strong muscular hands on her burning ribs. Her mind, on the other hand, told her that she needed to move on and focus on healing. Her mind told her to be thankful that he had vacated her chair so that she could finally stop the burning in her ribs.

As her thoughts went everywhere, the medication began to pull her under. Her eyelids began to droop. She took in a final, decent sized breath before sleep came. At that moment, she reveled in his scent and allowed it to lull her into a deep, comfortable sleep.