Author's Note: Hello everyone, here is my latest Bones fic. It's been a while since I have published anything as I have been working solely on this story and it has taken me considerably longer to complete it than I expected. It is a complete story that I have published all in one go rather than post a chapter weekly as I have done with previous stories. The reason for this is that I knew it was taking me a long time to write and I wasn't sure if I would end up finishing it, and if there's one thing I hate, it's leaving things unfinished, especially when I know someone else is (hopefully!) going to be reading it.
The story is very angst filled with a little romance later on to balance this out. It is set at the end of Season 3 immediately after the episode 'The Wannabe in the Weeds'. If you have read any of my stories before, you will know I love to play around with 'what if' scenarios and this fic is no different. I was doing yet another re-watch of Bones and when I got to 'The Santa in the Slush', I got to thinking, what would have happened if that kiss under the mistletoe had developed into something more. I then thought about what the implications of that change in Brennan and Booth's relationship might mean for the subsequent episodes, particularly the last two of Season 3. So, that is what I wrote about!
I have rated the story M for one chapter later in the story. It is quite a soft M but I thought it was probably too strong to be a T. So, sorry if you have come here looking for smut, that really isn't what this story is about! Although you might enjoy Chapter 10 if that's your thing! ;)
It would make me very happy if you could take the time to leave me a review to let me know what you think. Also, I haven't marked the story as complete so please let me know if you would like to see any continuation of this story and I will do my best to accommodate.
As always, I don't own Bones.
Numb. She was numb. There were many other words in Temperance Brennan's extensive vocabulary that could have described how she felt; anaesthetised, immobilised, stuporous. But numb epitomised how she felt, because at that moment she was devoid of feeling, physically and emotionally. She was just existing, an autonomous robot, allowing her subconscious mind to take control of her basic primitive functions.
She felt like she only existed inside her head where the events of the night when her life changed forever were indelibly etched into her memory. The memories didn't play like a video, instead, they were a series of images. Each one like a panel from a comic book, a freeze frame capturing the horror, the despair, the agony, that she knew existed out there, but just couldn't feel.
The images flicked through her head once again, in chronological order, like a slide show, the constant action replays not degrading the clarity, instead sharpening them until they felt unbearably tangible.
Singing on the stage, seeing her friends cheering and dancing. The encouragement of her closest friends and colleagues enabling her to relax and enjoy it, despite it being so far out of her comfort zone. Seeing Booth suddenly leap to his feet then spotting Pam Nunan by the bar, gun in hand, pointing it at her. Booth putting himself between her and the gun, then watching as Pam pulled the trigger. The way Booth's body rocked backwards from the impact of the bullet, then crumpled to the floor. Falling to her knees beside him, seeing Pam take aim at her again, then picking up Booth's gun and firing it with deadly accuracy, feeling no remorse at taking Pam Nunan's life. Booth's hand gripping hers as she pleaded, cried, and begged for him to stay. His blood pooling crimson under her fingers as she applied pressure to the wound, the vital fluid pumping from his body, draining the life from him as it flowed to the floor. Her friends shielding her so she could stay by Booth's side, deflecting the horde of FBI agents that were suddenly swarming the building, all asking questions. Forcing her way inside the ambulance, refusing to allow them to take him without her. The impossibly uncomfortable orange plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room, and the unbearably bright fluorescent lights, highlighting just how much of Booth's blood had gotten on her clothes. Angela, holding her tightly, holding her together as she slowly fell to pieces while they waited for news of Booth's condition. Then finally, the doctor emerging through the door in his blue blood-stained scrubs, wearily pulling the surgical cap from his head, his face grim as he said the words she never wanted to hear.
"The bullet nicked the subclavian artery, and he lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. We did what we could, but I'm sorry, he's gone."
Brennan didn't react, couldn't cry. She was paralysed as her sharp, genius brain scrambled to make sense of the words. Trying to put them into some sort of context, to give them a meaning.
The doctor left the room, and Brennan could feel her body shaking. The movement wasn't originating within her though, it was coming from Angela, who was still holding onto Brennan, and she was sobbing. Huge wrenching sobs that were shaking Brennan's body along with Angela's as she held her.
Brennan surveyed the room from behind blurry eyes, almost detached from her body, seeing the expressions of grief on the faces of all those present in the room, but not able to feel a thing herself. She was empty, her body just a shell.
She looked down at her hands, still red where Booth's blood had stained her skin and nails. She also noticed how all her clothes were splattered with drops of crimson. She abruptly shot to her feet, feeling the sudden impetus to flee, to get far away from here.
"Brennan! Where are you going?"
Angela's shaky voice stopped Brennan in her tracks. She slowly turned around with one hand still on the rough aluminium panel on the door that led to the exit, to outside, to somewhere that was far away from here.
"I… I have to go home. I have to change." A hint of desperation tinged her words as she indicated to her clothes with her hand.
Brennan watched as understanding dawned on her best friend's features. Angela shared a loaded glance with Hodgins -who was sitting opposite them in the small waiting room along with Cam and Zack- before she shakily got to her feet and walked towards Brennan, taking her by the elbow.
"Okay Sweetie. Whatever you need." Her voice was soft and reassuring but the slight tremor belied her own shock and grief.
Angela glanced back towards Hodgins who took the hint and followed them as they walked down the corridor and out of the hospital.
As Hodgins parked the car outside her apartment building, Brennan was confused. Why were they stopping? Were they here already? Her eidetic memory rarely failed her, but the slide show of horror had been replaying in her head again, and she was alarmed to find that she couldn't remember any of the journey home.
Brennan shivered as she stepped out of the vehicle onto the pavement and into the night air. She didn't feel cold, but her body clearly did. She still couldn't feel anything and wouldn't have been able to say whether it was hot or cold, humid or dry. It all felt so surreal, and she briefly wondered for a moment if she was asleep and this was a dream. Angela appeared by her side and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, bringing Brennan's awareness back to the present moment.
"C'mon Bren, you're shivering." She said firmly as she guided Brennan into the building.
As they stood in the elevator, Brennan felt her body slump against Angela's and her best friend's arm tightened on her shoulder in response. She knew Angela was holding her up, but she had no strength left in her limbs to carry herself and she was grateful that her best friend was here, supporting her both literally and figuratively.
Fumbling with her keys, Brennan finally managed to open the door to her apartment and stumbled inside, Angela hesitantly releasing her as Brennan shrugged out of her jacket before dumping it on the floor.
Angela was concerned about her best friend. She had known Temperance Brennan for over four years now and she had never seen her like this before. Angela knew that Brennan must be in so much pain, but she was just vacant. She hadn't even shed a tear. It was like she had shut herself down. There was no thought behind her actions, she was simply functioning.
She watched as Brennan slowly lowered herself onto the couch, her usually sharp blue eyes dazed and unfocussed. Angela sat down beside her and gently placed her hand on her arm.
"Tell me what you need Sweetie." Angela pleaded. Hoping her friend would come back, show some sign that she was aware what was happening.
Brennan turned her head towards her, and Angela almost flinched as Brennan's eyes almost seemed to look right through her. Her skin was ashen, her lips dry and waxen, her eyes rimmed red like she'd been crying even though Angela knew that not to be the case.
"I need to be alone." Brennan said quietly. Maybe if she was alone, she might be able to shake off this apathy.
"Brennan…" Angela began to argue. She didn't think it was a good idea for her to be alone, especially not in the state she was in.
"Please, Angela." Brennan insisted, her eyes finally focussing on Angela's face, silently pleading with her to leave, to let her handle this the only was she knew how. Alone.
Angela's soft brown eyes probed Brennan's sea blues for a long moment before she finally acquiesced.
"Okay." She sighed resignedly. "But only if you promise me that you will call me if you need anything and I mean anything, no matter what time it is. And I promise that I'll be back first thing in the morning."
"Fine. But it's not necessary to come in the morning, Angela. I'll be at the lab."
Angela raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. She didn't think there was any way that Brennan would be capable of work tomorrow but she knew it was pointless to argue. She recalled several occasions where she had tried to get her best friend out of the lab and failed every time. The only person who ever seemed to have any success in getting her out of the Jeffersonian was Booth. Angela felt fresh tears well in her eyes as she thought of her dead Special Agent friend. She squeezed Brennan's arm, then reluctantly stood and left the apartment before she started crying again, casting a concerned glance in her best friend's direction as she closed the door. Angela was going to make sure she was here early in the morning. Brennan was taking Booth's death even harder than she could ever have anticipated and something told her that she would need her help, whether she asked for it or not.
Brennan waited for Angela to close the door before she staggered to her feet and stumbled toward the kitchen. The door to the cupboard that contained the only bottle of liquor she owned banged noisily against the wall as she hastily flung it open before reaching inside for the bottle.
She needed a drink. It wasn't with the aim to become intoxicated; she was numb enough already. The lack of feeling was disconcerting and she just wanted to feel something. Anything. She grabbed a glass and poured herself a generous measure of scotch, hoping that the heat of it as she drank it would help, while at the same time, trying not to acknowledge the reason why she had the liquor in the first place. It was Booth's favourite and she kept it there for him.
She downed the glass and was pleased when it began to work almost instantly. She could feel the liquid slide all the way down her oesophagus until it entered her stomach, and when the heat of the alcohol spread to her arms and legs, she felt relieved that it seemed to be erasing some of the paralysis in her limbs.
Carefully placing the glass in the sink, she glanced down at herself, noticing the blood stains on her clothing again. She gripped the edge of the counter and braced herself against it as she realised too late that trying to get rid of the numbness might not have been a good idea. It had been protecting her from the harsh reality that Booth was dead, and now that the scotch had caused the numbness to ebb, a torrent of emotions was creeping up on her. Her chest began to heave as her breathing suddenly became constricted and she felt like something was crawling beneath her skin, trying to tear its way out. She began to rip at her clothing, her fingers like claws, suddenly no longer able to bear the thought of his blood on her. Seeing it there only reminded her of how it had gotten there in the first place and the devastating implications of that. She tore off the ruined green blouse and black pants, the buttons popping off and landing on the floor with a tiny clink before she wadded the clothes into a ball and threw them in the trash, burying them under other items of garbage so she wouldn't have to look at them again.
Her stomach suddenly began to churn and she had to make a rapid dash for the bathroom. She crouched over the toilet as she regurgitated the meagre contents of her stomach including the scotch she had just drunk. Her legs felt unstable as she got to her feet and turned on the water in the shower. She stripped off her bra and panties then climbed in. The water was too hot but she didn't care. She stood under the spray for a long time, just allowing the water to wash over her, watching as the last remnants of Booth's blood washed down the drain. It was then that she finally cried, sobbing so hard that she couldn't breathe, collapsing into a heap on the floor of the shower. She hugged her knees to her chest and wept. This was without doubt the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Her parents leaving her paled in comparison. Even finding out that her mother had died and that her bones had been in the basement of the Jeffersonian with the other unidentified remains was still not as bad as this.
Brennan had always been proud of how strong and independent she was but right at that moment, her strength had dissolved into nothing. How was she ever going to find the courage to overcome this grief? This feeling that nothing will ever be the same? How can she live knowing that she will carry his death in her heart every day, like a lead weight in her chest, weighing her down, continually reminding her of his absence until the day she dies.
She cried on the cold tiles of the shower floor until her skin was wrinkled and the water had turned cold. She stiffly rose from the floor, her limbs protesting at the sudden movement after being inert for so long, and wrapped herself in a towel, automatically completing the necessary actions to dry herself. The numbness had returned only, different. It felt like it had layers, like she was undergoing surgery and the anaesthesia had failed. On the surface, she was numb, but she could feel everything underneath. Every cut, every movement was agony, but she was powerless to stop it. The only thing she could do was endure it and hope she survived.
Dressing in one of Booth's T-shirts, she got ready for bed, certain it would be impossible to sleep, but pulled back the covers on the bed anyway. She laid down and pulled her knees up so she was in the foetal position. She was shivering and she felt so cold. She pulled the covers up to her chin, attempting to retain some warmth. Her wet hair was only adding to the chill that seemed to have penetrated her bones, but she just couldn't find the fortitude to go and dry it. The only thing she could do was lay there, tears still streaming down her face, unable to figure out how to stop them.
As she predicted, sleep didn't come. Brennan felt like she was being tortured, and she fervently hoped for sweet unconsciousness to take away the pain. The slideshow that had been playing in her mind earlier in the night was having a re-run and this time, without the numbness, it was sheer excruciating agony to remember.
The pain took her breath away and she rolled onto her back as she fought to pull air into her lungs. She covered her face with her hands and she wanted to yell, to scream, to fight. Something that hurt this much must be something she should be able to fight against. Goodness knows, she had spent most of her adult life protecting herself from feeling emotions exactly like she was experiencing at that moment, and she wondered if maybe Booth's death might have hurt less if she hadn't gotten so close to him. If she hadn't finally let him in.
Three months ago, she had made an uncharacteristically impulsive decision and that decision had led to something that up until that day, had made her happier than she had ever been in her life. She had found herself doing and feeling things that were contrary to everything she had ever believed in. It felt scary and strange and yet it felt right. Brennan wasn't accustomed to trusting her gut like Booth, but for maybe the first time in her life, she had trusted her feelings. She didn't regret it at the time, but now, laying there, enduring wave after wave of agony, she couldn't help but wonder if it had been worth it.
Brennan hated keeping secrets, but she had been keeping this one for months and she knew she would never be able to reveal it. She didn't think she would ever be able to find the strength to explain, to withstand the reactions of her friends when she told them her and Booth had been in love in a secret relationship, and now, he was gone.