The aspirin didn't touch his illness. The further she drove the more obvious this became. His flesh burned red. He sweated through terrible tremors. Even with the fever and a blanket he couldn't get warm. Periodically he coughed, driving a deep roar from his lungs. Brennan managed to keep her composure through it all. That was until Booth moaned. His body became rigid. His teeth grinded together. Seeing him in that state drew forth a rage of fury. "I can't drive any faster, Booth." Her anger wasn't really at him or with him. But since he was there and she needed to direct her energy at someone, he became the target. She doubted he could hear her anyway. "I'm doing what I can to help you."
He groaned again softly. Within seconds his shivering turned violent as it transformed into a seizure. "No. Not now." Brennan whispered. She pulled over to the side of the road. By the time she got out and reached him at his passenger side door he'd stopped. Feebly he breathed out labored gasps. His shaking now was weak. Brennan dropped down onto one knee to bring herself to his level. "Booth? Booth, look at me!"
He didn't, of course. It was easy to see he was fading fast. The cold in combination with the cancer was truly killing him. Brennan choked back tears. She opened the back door. There scattered across the seat was their luggage. She prepared a morphine shot and injected him, hoping to relieve at least part of his problem. As she got back behind the wheel her own hands were shaking. She took off so fast the car's tires spun on the wet pavement. From then on the speed limit was forgotten about. As she wound her way through back country roads she was pushing the car as fast as it would go without losing control. "Hold on, Booth."
"I can't-" he murmured deliriously. Whether or not he was even responding to her or Amanda was in question.
"Yes, you can! You have to!"
Those were the last words he spoke to her. For the remainder of the ride he was caught in a state of unconsciousness. He didn't move a muscle. The only manner in which she knew he was still alive was the sound of his noisy breathing.
"How could you do this to him?" She muttered out loud. She wasn't quite sure who she was directing her thoughts to, since she didn't believe in a God. If there was one, why wasn't He doing anything to save her husband? Why hadn't He protected him in the first place? Why had He allowed him to suffer through so much pain and anguish?
She about cried for a second time when at long last she arrived in the busy streets of New York City. She stopped at the first hospital she came across. Forget finding Dr. Morris' office. Booth needed help. Now. She'd simply get the hospital to page the doctor. From there they could go over a plan of action.
Into the back of the ER bay she stopped her car. Paramedics were standing near the entrance with a stretcher waiting. "Help needed!" She called to them as she ran around the car. The men sprung into action. They immediately were at her side, unloading Booth and setting him onto the bed. He was as limp as a noodle, and completely oblivious.
"He's got cancer, and he's fighting off a cold." Brennan rambled anything that came to her mind. She followed behind as they hurried him inside the hospital. "He's on morphine for pain. There's doctors treating him and there's one we need to call. He needs help. He's dying." The last two words stole her breath away. "He's dying," she repeated again in a stunned shock to herself. She came to a complete stop in the hallway. It wasn't like she hadn't known. But hearing herself say the words out loud was something different. It made it feel all too much more real.
The men disappeared from sight pushing Booth into the emergency room. Brennan found the waiting area. She sat down in a chair. Her head fell into her hands that had finally stopped quivering. She'd done what she could. She'd gotten him help. Now she just had to trust in the medical staff over seeing his care. She had to trust in Booth himself. But knowing how weak he was made it difficult. She didn't blame him for being too tired to try. This battle had been going on for years. The end may have been in sight. But she dreaded the out come.
Booth was back in that dark, tepid basement. His hands were tied behind his back. The pain he was in disabled him. His throat burned as though live fire was flickering through the tissue, with the smoke billowing out through his nose. He couldn't breathe, think, or move. In his mouth he could taste blood on his tongue. Lifelessly he looked up at the ceiling.
Bright light burned in its suddenness in his eyes. He winced and turned away with tightly shut eyes. Above him he could hear the sound of a woman laughing. He let no emotion be shown when he felt a coldness in the crook of his arm, followed by the sting of a needle. Floating above him he could hear distant voices. Their words made no sense to him.
"Pupils are dilated. Temperature's one hundred and four. And I don't like how low his blood pressure is."
"His wife said he's on morphine for pain. She administered a shot."
"How long ago?"
"A few hours."
"All right. Well I want to get an IV drip going. Lets at least get him comfortable."
The woman who had been laughing was right next to his ear. "You hear that? They're talking about you."
Booth flipped onto his back to find himself face to face with Amanda. She got down on both of her knees besides him. "You're dying, just like I told you you would. You don't have a snowball's chance in Hell." Her hand crept over his hips. It reached for the fastener on his jeans.
"There's heavy congestion in his chest."
"All right. I want x-rays. Lets see what we're dealing with here."
Amanda undid the button. She slid her hand up towards his navel, smiling deviously at his pained reaction. "You're all mine. You'll always be all mine." The hand smoothed back downwards. She started to shift his pants off his hips.
"I hate you so much," he breathed.
"What did you say?"
With every ounce of strength he had Booth twisted his hips away from her. In another quick movement he managed to pull his legs back and kick. His feet caught Amanda square in the chest. She was propelled onto her back. Booth used her momentary surprise to his advantage. Though his wrists were still bound he was able to get up onto his feet. "It ends here," he growled at her.
"Dr. Brennan?"
Brennan opened her eyes at the sound of her name. She hadn't realized she'd been sleeping until that moment. Her eyes first went to Booth. His face was turned to one side as he continued to sleep softly. A clear plastic oxygen mask covering both his nose and mouth kept humified air pumping into his lungs. It'd been twenty four hours since he'd been admitted. Only a few times during that period had he woken. Each time he had, it'd only proven to be heart crushing. Booth was gone. He didn't interact with her, or anyone, for that matter. Blankly, he just stared. His movements were jerky, and difficult for him to complete. In her heart she knew the brain tumors were finally beginning to disable him. Without getting the emergency care he so desperately needed she worried that within in a month she'd lose him entirely. She knew his doctors had similar concerns, especially now that it'd been determined that his compromised immune system was fighting a bout of pneumonia.
She turned now to find a short, red haired man standing in the doorway. He wore a white lab coat over his clothes. Seeing he had her attention he took a few more steps forward. "Are you Dr. Brennan?"
"Yes," she answered in a voice that hadn't been used in a day for any other purpose than to cry.
"I'm Dr. Morris." He extended his hand. Weakly she accepted the hand shake. "And this must be Agent Booth. I've been speaking to his doctors. What do you feel is going on with him?"
What did she feel was going on with him? The question angered her. Only she didn't have enough strength to carry the emotion. And so her words came out in a strong, uncharacteristic rant. "What's wrong with him? Two years ago he was abducted by a woman determined to get revenge for the death of her sister. She unfairly blamed Booth for her sister running a meth lab, and killing her when authorities tried to make an arrest. She tortured him, raped him, and beat him until he grew so despondent he drank household cleaner in an attempt to take his own life. A year ago he was rescued. But she'd inflicted so much abuse on him that I nearly lost him multiple times again to suicide attempts. He's been a victim of his mind, of hallucinations, which I thought was in part from post traumatic stress. He started having seizures, which again we chalked up to the numerous impacts to the head he'd received. We had no idea how sick he was. How sick she'd made him." She shook her head and took in a breath to keep her emotions still. "He's been through withdrawal, depression, seizures, suicide attempts, headaches, and now this. So pardon me, doctor, but unless you have good news I prefer to be alone with my husband."
Dr. Morris rubbed his chin. "You think she gave him cancer?"
"I don't know," Brennan sighed. "He does. She worked in a hospital so I suppose she had access to components of that nature."
The doctor nodded slowly. He pulled up a chair and sat down besides her. "I've spent the last few hours going over his medical history, including the most recent scans that have been performed. He's very sick."
His dazed stare popped into her memory. Not trusting her voice, she just nodded.
"I still believe I can help him. I'm certain I can remove these tumors."
Her eyes widened. "So do it!"
"We have to wait until the pneumonia has resolved itself."
Brennan was horrified. "He doesn't have time for that!"
"Dr. Brennan, I understand your concern. But if we were to attempt this surgery now there's almost a certainty that we'd lose him. We just have to be patient."
"We've been patient. He's only gotten sicker."
"I know. I'm just asking for a little more. I can't risk his life by attempting this surgery now. I just can't."
Brennan was dying to argue. But logically she knew he was right. She looked back upon Booth's sleeping face. We'll save you, she mentally promised him.
