A/N: A fun fact about me is that I have a touch of ADHD, and I often struggle to complete a big task once the "important" parts are done. That has been the torture I've faced while writing this and the next chapter. Nonetheless, I think I soldiered through it!
Any recognizable text is clearly from the show, and I'm just borrowing it.
Brennan groaned as she began to wake up. Her eyes were heavy, and she felt like she'd been sleeping in the same uncomfortable position for a long time. Forcing her eyelids open, she looked around the dark room, taking in the sights and sounds and realizing she was in the hospital. Her next realization was that she was in pain, excruciating pain. The day's events began flooding back to her and she looked frantically around the room, registering her surroundings.
"Help." she tried to call out, but her voice was hoarse. Feeling around she sought out the call button tied around the safety bar next to her. Jabbing her thumb on the button, repeatedly, she wondered where everyone was. How long had she been here? She felt along her stomach, lifting the gown out of the way to find a large bandage along her abdomen and a panic settled over her. She tried to calm herself, feeling the different items attached to her body: a heart monitor and its corresponding machine beeped next to her. Another similar electrode was over her stomach, beeping softly as well, and she hoped it meant what she thought it did.
"Hello Dr. Brennan. Welcome back." A friendly woman in scrubs came through the door, carrying a chart. "I'm Lidya. We're just doing our shift change, so you'll be stuck with me for the day." she told her. "Are you in pain?" she asked, and Brennan gritted her teeth, shaking her head. The last thing she wanted was to be more disoriented than she already felt. "I don't believe you." Lidya commented dryly as she fastene a blood pressure cuff to Brennan's arm.
"What are my injuries?" she asked, afraid to ask the real question, afraid to ask about her growing fetus.
"Dr. Brennan, do you have a tampon on you?" Cam asked from within the stall as Brennan washed her hands at the sink. "I thought this was over already." She grumbled, sounding like she was talking more to herself than Brennan.
"Oh, uh, yes I have my purse. One moment." She told Cam, placing her purse on the countertop and unzipping it. It wasn't until she opened her bag and saw the empty throat lozenge package that she remembered the incident where Mr. Nigel-Murray had inadvertently stolen her tampons. He'd removed them while searching for a cough drop for Caroline and had failed to put them back before he walked away. She wondered with mirth what he ended up doing with them. Regardless, she'd meant to replace them, as well as clean out the plethora of receipts and lozenge wrappers, but she hadn't really had a chance to truly sit down and organize her bag in ages. "Sorry, Cam. It looks as though I do not have any with me." She confessed apologetically.
"I have a couple in my desk drawer. Would you mind…?" Cam asked, sounding equally apologetic, but Brennan assured her she'd be right back and headed out of the ladies room.
As she walked, she made a note to replenish her supply before this point in her own menstrual cycle began. She opened Cam's desk drawer and retrieved the tampons, pausing as the mental math failed to make sense. She should have needed to replenish her supply two weeks ago. How had she missed that?
"Are you all right, Dr. Brennan?" Vincent asked, standing in Cam's doorway. Brennan glanced up at him, trying to hide her own horror from her expression.
"Fine. Please give these to Dr. Saroyan in the restroom nearest to my office." She instructed him, handing him the tampons.
"Do— do you mean the women's toilet…?" She heard him mutter after her in confusion as she strode quickly toward the exit, the sound of her own heels clicking rapidly against the floor echoing in her ears like a war drum.
Brennan stood impatiently in the line at the drugstore by her apartment, glaring at the pubescent trainee cashing out the long queue of patrons.
"Wow." The young man said when Brennan finally placed her basket on the counter and began unloading her purchases to be scanned and bagged. "That's a lot of—"
"I'm perfectly aware of what they are and how many I have, thank you." She snapped, cutting him off before he could complete his astonished sentence. He seemed to understand that his commentary was unwelcome and began the painfully slow process of scanning each of the items.
By the time she had her answer, she was quite positive that she was… positive. She eyed the 20 paper cups on her bathroom counter, each container holding a small aliquot of her urine. She'd purchased five of each brand of tests the pharmacy had on their shelves, and despite her absolute certainty that she had not altered her oral contraceptive schedule in any way, the data before her was empirical, undisputable, and statistically significant. She wondered if perhaps she should repeat the tests to ensure her sample population wasn't tainted by using the same urine sample for each test, but had ultimately decided that would be bordering on neuroticism.
She was pregnant. A blood test would confirm, but she felt her data had provided her with nearly 100% confidence on the matter.
Taking a deep breath, Brennan disposed of the urine into her toilet bowl and tossed the cups and pregnancy tests into a plastic garbage bag, tying it shut and then double-knotting it for good measure. She didn't bother to put it into her kitchen garbage bin; instead, she walked down the hall to the building's garbage chute and dropped it down, closing the heavy metal hatch carefully to avoid the loud noise that usually accompanied the chute door. The last thing she wanted was to encounter a nosy neighbor poking their head out to inquire about the noise.
As she returned to her apartment, she locked the door, methodically counting the steps to her kitchen sink, singing Happy Birthday twice as she washed her hands, and then counting the steps she took to her bedroom. When she finally curled up on the centre of her bed she allowed her resolve to crumble.
The timing was wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not this way, certainly not alone. It was not supposed to happen while Booth was clearly in love with someone else. The overwhelming sense of losing all control was bearing down on her, and she tried to wrap her arms around her body, to squeeze herself like Booth would. It was not even a fraction as effective as his guy hugs were. Grabbing a pillow from the head of her bed, she gripped it to her chest as her whole body shook from the force of her sobs.
"They removed a 9 inch shard of glass from your abdomen. It nicked your liver, but they were able to stop all of the bleeds. You lost a lot of blood. Gave your family and friends a pretty good scare." she chattered as she checked Brennan's vitals. "Your husband was here all night, fell asleep in that chair, so he'll probably be in a world of pain himself. You just missed him, actually. He headed out not too long ago. Most certainly needed a hot shower." she chuckled, and Brennan glanced at the uncomfortable chair. A wrinkled suit jacket was slung over the back of it.
Booth.
"He's not my– we're not married…" She corrected the nurse absently. "My– I'm – I was—" she wasn't entirely sure how to phrase her inquiry, but Lidya seemed to understand just fine, smiling with a nod at one of the monitors next to Brennan.
Brennan glanced down at the notepad on her kitchen counter in front of her and contemplated the list she'd made: 'Pros and Cons of Committing to Carrying the Fetus to Term'
Below, her list on the pro side contained the obvious, infant will have excellent genetics, progeny will be Booth's— she cringed as an intrusive thought of becoming unexpectedly pregnant via Andrew's sperm. He was a wonderful man, but she wasn't prepared to be permanently tied to him through a shared progeny. She added superior intellect to her list, accounting for her own steep learning curve and then added superior physique and athletic abilities to account for Booth's, though she knew in the genetic lottery their child could end up with Booth's IQ and her own physical abilities which wasn't entirely unfortunate but certainly not the best combination. She made note of her financial stability and Booth's recovery from gambling making him stable. She'd assisted him recently with an investment portfolio and made sure to tell him how proud she was of his recovery.
Skimming over her list she smiled and added another item. Because I want to have a child.
Her cons list was just as long though, citing things like Booth's relationship, the poor timing, and his moral compass which would likely urge him to remain with Hannah and end their affair sooner rather than later. Each item became less about the fetus and more about her relationship with Booth. It seemed unfair to hinge so much of her decision on what Booth's resulting actions might be.
For a brief moment, she considered leaving and embracing single parenthood. If Booth was unaware of the fetus, he wouldn't feel the weight of obligation forcing him to choose between Brennan and Hannah. He had proposed to Rebecca simply because she'd been carrying his progeny; would he feel the same obligation toward Brennan, even if he felt that Hannah could make him happier? She would never forgive herself if she forced him to make that decision, but she was quite certain he would never forgive her if she made the decision for him by running. Truthfully, she didn't want to run, not from Booth at least.
Booth had told her once that it takes a village to raise a child. He'd preached the importance of having a strong support system in place. He'd asked her to be a part of Parker's village back when he was just a small boy, and she took her role in his life very seriously. Her village was here, in DC, at the lab, and whether the child had been Booth's or someone else's, she knew she'd want him to be a prominent member of her offspring's village. Booth had already proven that he could be an excellent father. She would have to learn to cope with holding her feelings at bay if Booth opted to remain with Hannah. For the sake of their child, she would make it work.
"Though I don't believe you can actually hear me at this point in your development, I am confident that I already have very strong feelings toward you. As such, I would like to invite you to continue using my body to grow until such time that you are able to thrive outside of my womb, at which time I will raise you." She spoke confidentially, though she felt just as foolish as the first time Booth convinced her to speak to the headstone above her mother's grave. "I assure you, I will provide adequate nourishment and protection throughout your development." She added, ignoring the sinking feeling that what she could offer alone might not be enough. "I'm sure I will learn to do the rest. I have a rather steep learning curve. Your father is excellent with children, with people in general. He— he will be better at that." She explained quietly, resting a palm over her flat belly. "There are other people in his life that— that are very important to him, but I have seen empirical data that suggests he puts the well-being of his progeny above that of anyone else in his life, so I'm confident you will be adequately accommodated with the emotional support you'll require."
"Your little bundle is doing just fine." she informed her with a warm smile. Brennan nodded gratefully, placing a protective hand over her belly. She could hardly believe there was a time when she wasn't sure that she'd want this child; now she couldn't even fathom the idea of it being injured without overwhelming dread.
"Brennan!" Angela's cheerful voice greeted her from the doorway. "You're awake!" she shouted, stating the obvious as she waddled into the room. Brennan wondered how her own gait would change when she became as large as Angela. "You scared the shit out of us all, just FYI." Ange told her candidly, as she lowered herself into the chair. "And I don't know how long you thought you could hide this little secret from me…" she said, tapping her finger on the side of the fetal heart monitor machine next to her. "But your boobs are already getting huge, and the rest will follow." She warned Brennan playfully. "Trust me." She added dryly.
Sitting at her desk as she tried to listen to Mr. Bray's explanation of his term paper topic of choice, Brennan was making a discrete effort to tamp down the wave of nausea washing over her. She had been experiencing an increasingly alarming level of difficulty in maintaining her privacy in this matter. She had not accounted for this particular dilemma.
"I'm disappointed, Mr. Bray. Apply more effort to your thesis and bring me a revised outline. You're dismissed." She'd interrupted him, and she knew, even for her, that she'd been rude and abrupt, but she simply needed him to leave.
He stammered, asking questions as he gathered his papers, taking his time apparently, and Brennan made every effort to remain stoic, staring coldly at him while she concentrated on keeping her mouth clamped shut. Taking deep breaths through her nose as the tell-tale increase in activity from her salivary glands indicated she would likely not make it to the restroom.
"Uhm, I'll do better next time, Dr. Brennan." Wendell stammered as he finally moved to leave.
"Door." She groaned through clenched teeth and watched as he quickly pulled it closed behind him before scurrying away.
Grabbing the waste basket under her desk and turning away from the door and windows, Brennan tensed as the contents of her stomach made a violent escape from her body. She wretched several times before there was simply nothing left to expel. She felt badly, as she wiped her mouth on some tissues, for how she'd spoken to Wendell. She was, in fact, disappointed with his choice of research topic; it was unimaginative, derivative, contrived, and completely below his current academic level. She'd have liked to explain this to him with much more tact, though, and she was beginning to wonder if she ought to seek him out later to explain it more kindly.
She had just popped a mint into her mouth as a knock on her door grabbed her attention. Stowing the waste basket under her desk quickly, she turned to find Angela and Cam entering her office.
"We're going to the diner for lunch." Angela announced rather than requested, and Brennan's stomach physically recoiled at the mere thought of putting anything back into it.
"No, thank you." Brennan told them, trying to maintain her stoic expression when in reality she was feeling rather disgusted with the current aftertaste plaguing her mouth.
"C'mon! We need a break." Angela tried to entice her to join them. "Hey… do you smell something?" She asked, looking around as Cam wrinkled her nose and nodded.
"Smells like… vomit." Cam commented, looking around as if they would suddenly see a mysterious pile of regurgitate that they'd previously missed upon entering her office.
Clearing her throat, Brennan pretended to look around as well. "Perhaps, you splashed some vomit on your sweater earlier while you were throwing up." Brennan suggested to Angela, grateful for the fact that she'd walked in on her friend in the restroom doing exactly that earlier that morning. She hoped she wouldn't suffer the same lengthy bout of morning sickness that Angela was experiencing. She'd read that some women could experience it right up until they delivered. She had also learned, not from a book, that the term morning sickness did not necessarily indicate that it only occured in the morning.
Angela cringed, lifting her sweater up to her nose and sniffing different areas as she attempted to locate the spot with the smell. "Oh my god…" she muttered, as she located a spot that evidently smelled of vomit. "It's me." She muttered, her face the picture of disgust.
"I have an extra shirt in my office. Come on." Cam nodded toward the door and guided Angela out.
As soon as they were out of sight, Brennan reached under her desk and tied the wastebasket bag shut. Sighing with distaste, she gingerly placed the vomit filled bag into her messenger bag, gathered her belongings, and walked toward the exit.
"I'm going to grade papers from home." She called out to anyone who was listening. She'd probably hear more on that topic once Angela had recovered from her self-disgust. She'd already made a comment about Brennan leaving early on a Tuesday afternoon. It had been the only appointment her obstetrician had available for several weeks. Apparently, there were some lines that being a best selling novelist did not help you cut to the front of. The best OBGYN in DC was one of them.
Brennan watched Angela as she rambled on about nothing of importance. She was making jokes, but her smile didn't meet her eyes, and there seemed to be something else in her features. Pain, perhaps.
"Ange… what happened?" Brennan implored her, feeling her own emotions bubbling over. She needed to know. "Vincent… is he here?" she asked, remembering how her young intern had shoved her out of the way. For a short instance, as she landed flat on her back and felt the wind knocked out of her lungs from the impact of the unyielding platform floor, she'd been ready to dismiss him on the spot and possibly let Booth shoot him. As if in slow motion, she watched from her spot on the floor as Vincent fell and the glass rained down around her, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain radiating through her.
Screaming and crying followed, but from there it was all a little fuzzy. She remembered asking Booth about Vincent, hearing Booth shouting for help and for updates on the younger man. She was quite certain Booth had told her that Vincent was fine just before she'd passed out.
She watched as Angela shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Vincent didn't make it, Sweetie." She finally answered quietly as nurse Lidya silently placed Brennan's chart on the end of the bed and excused herself from the room.
"Was anyone else hurt?" she asked, because she had no idea what she was supposed to say to that. She wanted to scream, to deny this, prove it false. Vincent couldn't be dead… he – he had been so full of life. He was Vincent. He– he'd worn her iguana as a hat and confessed to lying about having a sexual relationship with her while in the throes of alcoholism.
Angela shook her head. "No. Some minor scratches from the glass, but nobody else was seriously injured." she confirmed, squeezing Brennan's hand.
"Broadsky?" she asked, because she needed to occupy her mind with anything to block out the tidal wave of emotion she was just barely holding at bay. Had Broadsky been apprehended following his attack on her lab? Surely, Booth would have all of his agents working on this, more than they already had been anyway, if that were even possible.
"Booth's on it." Angela assured her firmly, but Brennan looked at her expectantly, silently demanding more detailed information. How was Booth on it? What was his tactical plan? Who was his back up? "It looks like Broadsky stole an access card for the port where Matt Leishenger sometimes worked." Angela finally explained, clearly elaborating under duress. "A team of agents in plain clothes set up at the port, so if Broadsky were to use the access card he stole, Booth would be alerted immediately." She added, her words coming out very carefully and almost deliberately vague.
"Angela…" Brennan probed, pulling her hand from her friend's at the sudden change in her facial expression. "Where is Booth?"
"Booth's on his way down there now…" Angela admitted slowly, and Brennan felt the sour taste of bile rising up her throat. That's why Ange was here at an ungodly hour in the morning. The sun was barely up.
"Who's with him?" Brennan demanded, not that anyone on their team would be of much help. "What can I do to help?" She asked, but Angela shook her head.
"You can help by staying in bed and taking care of yourself." She said firmly. "The interns cleaned Leishenger's bones and pored over the skeleton for any information that may have been helpful." Angela rambled on, and Brennan knew she was simply trying to convince Brennan that there was nothing to do but wait. Brennan hated waiting idly. It was useless. She needed to use her … her head.
"I have to go." she announced, throwing back the covers and attempting to climb out of the bed. There had been an injury on Matthew Leishenger's head that she'd wanted to further examine when the bones were cleaned. She'd made notes to take a closer look before the chaos had begun. As she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the wires and IV lines affixed to her body became tangled up, and Angela jumped up to stop her. She winced as the sharp pain shot through her abdomen and she groaned through her gritted teeth.
"Brennan!" Angela shouted, helping her back into the bed and straightening out the tangle of wires. "You need to lay down." she scolded her, pulling the blanket back up over Brennan's lap.
"He could die!" Brennan argued, wincing as her muscles contracted, tugging her stitches and her tender muscles. He needed her. She knew if she just examined that skull she would find what they needed. She knew she'd seen something of importance.
"You almost DID die!" Angela shouted back, glaring at Brennan as if trying to force the information to mean something. "We all thought we were going to lose you, Brennan. You need to take care of yourself right now. Booth knows what he's doing." She insisted, and Brennan knew that Booth was good at his job, but Broadsky was his equal in almost every way, except for where it could count the most— his morality. Booth would try to talk first; Broadsky would shoot to kill.
Knowing she was unlikely to convince Angela that she needed to go back to the lab immediately, she nodded her ascent, and settled back against the pillows, crossing her arms and glaring petulantly at her friend.
"Would you mind— could you see if they have some ice chips or something? Maybe ask the nurses for an analgesic to relieve some of my pain?" she pleaded, and Ange nodded, seemingly satisfied that Brennan was taking her own wellbeing more seriously and rising slowly from the chair. As she headed out of the door, Brennan smiled gratefully at her. "Thanks, Ange…" she called as her friend disappeared into the corridor.
As soon as Angela was out of sight, Brennan began ripping off the sticky pads from her chest and stomach, gingerly removing the IV and holding her finger over the injection site firmly for a moment. Confident that it was not bleeding, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sucked a sharp breath through her gritted teeth. Reaching for Angela's purse on the chair, she snatched her best friend's car keys, making a mental note to apologize with gifts later. Feeling a slight breeze blow through the open back of her hospital gown, she attempted to reach around and tie it closed, biting her lip as she felt the urge to scream in pain. Glancing around for something to wrap around her body, she lifted Booth's suit jacket and gingerly slipped her arms into it.
Making her way as stealthily down the hall as she could manage, she tucked herself into alcoves as she went to ensure nobody took note of her hasty departure and suspicious attire. It wasn't a prison. She should be able to come and go as she pleased, she tried to rationalize, though she maintained her sneaking movements just in case.
"He was punched." Brennan muttered to whomever just entered the exam room she'd been hiding out in to examine the head wound on Leishenger's skull. She was eternally grateful that her interns had defleshed the bones. She could clearly see the fracture to the skull now, and the patterns were indicative of a blow with something the approximate size and force of a fist. She was able to clearly ascertain the impact of two knuckles.
"Dr. B… you should be in the hospital." Hodgins told her, speaking quietly as if dealing with a rabid animal as he stepped further into the room. "Angie's pretty pissed about you stealing her car, by the way." he said, a bit of mirth in his tone. "And the whole ditching her at the hospital to fend off your nurses, who by the way, thought she was an active participant in your unprescribed liberation." He continued. She was barely listening, though something her father had once said came to mind.
"Sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission." Brennan muttered to herself. "I need to call Booth." She told Hodgins, wincing as she looked around for her phone. She didn't know where it was or when she'd had it last. Perhaps in her office or the forensics platform. "Give me your phone." She demanded, groaning loudly as she took a step toward him and felt a brief blinding pain radiate through her.
"Booth was following up on a Broadsky lead last I heard." Hodgins warned her vaguely, but he handed over his phone anyways without argument, for which she was grateful. She was quite certain she'd be unable to battle him in a physical fight to take his phone.
Brennan knew that Hodgins was right, that Booth was possibly on Broadsky's trail at that very moment when she dialed his number, impatience swelling in her chest as the call connected. It rang only once, and Brennan could hear that someone had answered, but Booth wasn't speaking. "Booth?" She asked to no avail. "He's there, but he's not saying anything." she muttered, looking to Hodgins for insight. He looked equally as confused and concerned.
"Maybe he can't." Hodgins told her urgently, taking his phone and putting it on speaker. "Okay, single click yes, double click no." He instructed firmly, speaking toward the phone speaker. "Is this Booth?" He asked.
*click* came the response, and Brennan held her breath.
"Are you in danger?" Hodgins asked his next question, one Brennan wanted the answer to as well. The single click that followed brought her no relief, despite having expected that response to begin with. "Are you after Broadsky?" Hodgins continued his line of inquiry, and Brennan clenched her jaw at the thought.
*click*
She'd known this. Angela and Hodgins had both already said this, probably on the direct information from Booth himself, but something within her had been hoping that he'd say no.
"I have information for him!" Brennan interjected, regaining her composure, and Hodgins moved the phone closer to her. "Booth, there are two bruises on Leishenger's mastoid process. They were inflicted by two knuckles on Broadsky's right fist." Brennan told him, ensuring to stick to the direct facts. "Do you understand what that means?" She asked impatiently when he didn't respond.
*click click*
He didn't understand, and Brennan found herself frustrated. He needed to understand this. It could mean the difference between life and — she didn't want to think about that. Not Booth. Not today.
"Dr. Brennan, if he's playing dueling snipers with Broadsky, you gotta get to the point real fast." Hodgins interjected, and she nodded. He was correct. She needed Booth to understand quickly, so that he could kill or capture Broadsky with as few additional casualties as possible.
"Okay, he struck the mastoid, which is nearly 44 millimeters thick." she explained, silently begging him to understand the significance. How could they be so disconnected at a time like this? Why couldn't she express herself in way he needed?
"Ah! Yes! Broadsky's right hand is broken!" Hodgins shouted over her, and she nodded enthusiastically. Precisely! That had been exactly what she wanted Booth to understand. Why was she never able to make a simple declaration without expressing the evidence first. Booth would have believed her if she'd simply said that the man's hand was broken. He wouldn't have demanded evidence of her. She should have led with that statement.
"You may have just saved my life." Booth's disembodied voice garbled quietly through the line before it went dead. Brennan gasped at the new silence and looked up to meet Hodgins' troubled eyes.
"I told you he needed me." She bragged half-heartedly as she felt lightheaded. She reached for the exam table in front of her, sending an instrument tray crashing to the floor as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her upper body, and her legs gave out from beneath her.