REDAMANCY: the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

When Ryan wakes up, he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

Maybe he isn't really seeing it. Maybe he's misinterpreting what he's really seeing (his eyes are only about half open because somebody keeps leaving the stupid lights on, and they're really messing with his head because they're so stupidly bright). Maybe it's a dream. He was definitely hallucinating earlier, courtesy of whatever pain meds they've got him on and general exhaustion (he's got no idea how long he's been in the hospital, but he still somehow feels like he hasn't slept in months, which shouldn't be possible, because the only thing he's really done since they brought him there is sleep, eat, worry about Alex, and sleep some more - none of which are truly physically demanding activities if you ask him), so that's another definite possibility. He hates how little control he has over himself, the position that he's in - he's a fighter, he's strong, and he's not used to being laid up like this, wondering if he can even trust his own eyes.

He definitely doesn't think that he can, though. This one pretty much seals the deal.

If his eyes are right, then Alex is standing not eight feet away from him, leaning up against the door to his hospital room. Her back is to him, and her hands are pressed flat against the door, like she's putting most of her weight on it, and she's pressed her forehead against it, too. He's really not sure what she's doing, but he knows for sure that it's her - he would know her anywhere.

She's still wearing that green jacket. Her hood is down, allowing her dark locks to tumble almost down to her waist. She's just about standing up straight. Her shoulders aren't as tensed as he's seen them, though, and that's enough to put Ryan on edge. She's running for her life - there's no way she should be so relaxed. If she's got something to tell him, she should be over here by him, not over there wasting valuable seconds of escape time.

Because that's the other reason that she can't be real - she can't be here. No matter what he wants, the million different ways that he's imagined her walking through that door with a big smile on her face, she can't have gotten into the FBI wing of the hospital. There must be security check points at every door, guards at every station, because they're on high alert after Grand Central (and he helped organize those details before he'd realized that they'd arrested Alex, so he knows that no one is getting past them). No one trusts anyone too much right now, he can tell that much - he heard O'Conner going on about checking badges and I.D.s when the jackets used to be good enough to mark one of their own a while ago (he thinks it was the day before, but time doesn't really seem to exist with how he's been slipping in and out of consciousness, so he chooses to let it go before he gives himself a headache trying to work it out in his head) - so there's no way that Alex could've bundled herself up and snuck in with a forensics or medical group and avoided getting herself caught.

The biggest problem, though, Ryan realizes as he slowly gets his head in order is this: they've got Alex in custody, and there's literally no way that she's gotten herself out.

She's the most competent, driven, strong woman that he knows. If anyone could've gotten out, it would've been her, but still... O'Conner's got a way of scaring the shit out of the younger agents when he wants to, and the older agents would never let themselves be the one that lost Alex Parrish. So there's no way that she's gotten away, no way that she's gotten herself free and found a way to sneak into this part of the hospital to see him.

(He isn't entirely sure that she would've if she could've, really, but he chooses to ignore that.)

Ryan's mind is foggy. He knows he's seeing things, which is probably the kind of thing that he should probably share with the next nurse he sees. (One of the nurses, a no-nonsense woman named Loretta, has become a sort of ally to him - after he'd been so loopy with the pain medication they'd given him that he'd actually asked about Alex a few times (thank God that he hadn't said 'Alex Parrish', because that was the sort of thing that would've gotten back to O'Conner and really screwed things up), Loretta had promised to send any Alexes she saw his way. He may have also told her, loopy as he'd been, that that had been why he kicked O'Conner and his goons out of his hospital room - they weren't Alex, and there wasn't anyone he wanted to see more than her.) He's sure they'll want to know that, especially if it might mean he's got some leftover head trauma that they hadn't noticed before. (Normally, the thought of dealing with more doctors and more nurses and more medical what ifs? would bother him, but he's so tired that his muscles don't even tense.)

He knows it's stupid. He really does. But part of him can't help but wonder if maybe she did find a way to get away.

He knows they won't listen to her - they let that guy torture him, for crying out loud, just to get her to confess for something she didn't do - and that means that (either it's happened already, or it will happen very soon) there will be a press conference announcing that they've caught her and that she'll be tried for terrorism, over one hundred counts of murder, God knows how many counts of treason, injury to fellow agents, and whatever else they can stick to her.

The memory of that torture strikes a nerve inside him, and he flinches without thinking about it. That's pretty dumb, too - he's Ryan-freaking-Booth, and with all the training he's had, all the shit he's been through, he knows that it shouldn't be getting to him the way that it is. He takes a deep, ragged breath in a weak, pathetic attempt to let go, but there it is again: that pain (it had hurt like a mother), and that fear (he'd been so scared for Alex, because everything in him wanted to take out Wells and his goons, grab her, and get out of there; but he'd also been so scared for himself: like Wells had said, he'd been pretty close to getting an infection, maybe to something worse, and that had scared him more than any guy with a gun ever had - he'd never wanted his mother, his sisters, to hear about him and Alex from anyone else, and if they heard that he'd died trying to protect her (that was the narrative that O'Conner would go with to save face, never mind how it might hurt the people that he loved not to know the truth, that he was in love with a woman that would never do something so atrocious, whether the public and the media believed or not)… He'd never wanted that for his family.)

He clenches his hands into fists. He doesn't need to be thinking about this now, he knows. But what else is he supposed to think about? The weather?

He forces himself to take another labored breath, to shove the image of Griffin Wells out of his mind, to shove the image of Alex's terrified face (watching her watch them torture him had made it worse, because she'd been so scared, and he'd hated to see someone so strong so terrified) out of his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut, counts to ten a few times.

When he opens his eyes, Alex is standing over him, hands reaching out but hanging in mid-air, like she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is moving, but he can't hear what she's saying.

She's not real, it's not real, he tells himself. The next voice, the one that it usually is, telling him to get his head back on straight, is his old CO - a Texas man, with an accent thicker than should've been possible, who somehow always knew when Ryan was running the risk of falling down and not getting back up. Get it together, Booth, this ain't a good look for you.

He sees the door open (he doesn't hear it, even though he knows good and well that he should, but his brain is too foggy to wonder why) under Alex's left arm (he ignores the way that her hair is tumbling down in loose waves, ignores the way her hands are reaching for him) and sees a pair of FBI-issue boots step inside. O'Conner.

He jerks into the upright position (something hurts, he just isn't quite sure what, as he moves too quickly). He refuses to be so vulnerable in front of O'Conner if he has a choice, and while it isn't the most comfortable position, he can deal with it.

Ryan tries to shove the image of Alex away, because he knows that O'Conner is probably here to get an update on his condition (that he doesn't have, because he can barely be bothered to listen to what the nurses are saying - he's so tired every time he wakes up, and he doesn't know if he can blame it on whatever they've been giving him for the pain alone - and, the first time he woke up, he gave Loretta his oldest sister's cell number and asked them to call her with updates or questions about his medical history, and then she can tell him if it's important, because she's been calling three times a day, and always manages to catch him while he's awake at least once) and to see if he has more information on Alex or her escape plan or who she was working with (that he doesn't have, because it doesn't exist). It won't look good if O'Conner figures out that Ryan is literally seeing things.

And, of all the things he could be seeing, he's seeing Alex - something O'Conner surely might see as suspicious.

"Ryan," he finally hears (and it's Alex, not O'Conner, because O'Conner is just standing there a few feet behind her, eyes flicking between Ryan and the spot where Alex is standing, even though Booth can't figure out why he's looking there, because there's really no one there), "Ryan, look at me."

Suddenly, Alex's hands are on his shoulders, and she's easing him back down to the pillow behind him. "You can't move so fast, you'll hurt yourself." Her mouth quirks to the side, and then there's a tiny ghost of a smile on her lips. "I mean, I know you have a penchant for doing dangerous things and having near-death experiences and stuff, but I would really prefer that you healed up from this one first. And tried to avoid aggravating any of these injuries of yours, or inflicting new ones, in the process."

He glares at her, just a little bit, in a way that must convey the not-wanting-to-be-in-such-a-vulnerable-position around O'Conner. She rolls her eyes, but turns and walks around the bed anyway, heading to the little storage cabinet on the other side of the room. She opens it the way one throws open curtains, and the doors swing on their hinges for a few seconds.

With a tiny "A-ha!" of victory and an even smaller smile on her face, the kind that almost reaches her eyes, she finally turns around and holds up an extra pillow. She grabs another one from the cabinet, pushes the doors closed, and crosses the distance between them.

Her hands are careful as she helps him sit up again (gingerly, this time, with the added support that she provides, keeping him from going too fast or falling back down). It doesn't hurt so much this time. He finds that he doesn't really care that O'Conner is standing there, that he's content to look at her in the dim light of the room - he knows that she's not real, she can't be, but Ryan also knows that, from now on, he'll probably only see her on TV.

There will be a trial, and she will be charged with whatever they can stick to her, and he will never see her again.

(It's truly cruel, how real she seems. It's worse that he knows it's all in his head - it doesn't really surprise him that his brain can cook up an Alex like this, no problem, but it's awful that he's going to wake up one morning, and O'Conner will tell him that charges have been filed against her, and he knows what will happen after that.)

So Ryan decides that he might as well relax and stop berating himself. He misses her, and it's really no wonder he's hallucinating - Ellie told him what kind of medicine they were giving him last night, and it's beyond strong: he's lucky he's not seeing more than the woman he's in love with. He can apologize to whatever nurse or agent his brain has turned into Alex in the morning, and he'll blame it on the pain medicine.

Once he's comfortably propped up on the pillows, and Alex has asked him if he's comfortable (and has given him a once-over that screams that she doesn't believe him at all, that she's still worried), she sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much, lest she upset one of Ryan's many injuries. She crosses her legs in front of her, and he's reminded of his nephew: It's called criss-cross-apple-sauce, Uncle Ryan. She situates herself in a way that she can keep one eye on Ryan, and one eye on O'Conner.

Great, even my hallucinations don't trust him, Ryan thinks to himself.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, Booth, but I agree with Parrish." O'Conner's got a shit-eating grin on his face, and Ryan hates it, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes are too busy going back and forth between the two of them, because there's no way that O'Conner is seeing things, too. (He's sure that O'Conner is really standing there, because doors don't open and close on their own, so that much is real.) "Parrish is working with us on catching the bad guys, but Miranda wanted to give the two of you a chance to, um..." O'Conner scratches the back of his neck, looking for the right word, and finally settles on: "talk. Miranda wanted to give you guys a chance to talk."

Alex grins at that. "Yes. Talk." She nods, tossing a conspiratorial glance at Ryan. "We need to talk."

O'Conner and Alex both look at Ryan expectantly. He can imagine how he looks: eyes wide (from the shock of O'Conner talking to his hallucination), skin pale (from his injuries and exhaustion), hands clenched into fists (he's not entirely sure what that's from, but it's likely a combination of the aforementioned causes), mouth opening and closing as he tries (and fails) to come up with something to say (what exactly does one say to the hallucination of the love of their life while their boss, who believes said love of one's life to be a terrorist, is in the room, and communicating with said love of one's life?). Part of him is glad that there's no mirror across from the bed (there is one on the other side of the room, but at least he can't see how stupid he must look to them).

Ryan cocks his head to the side. What if she really is here?

Alex has to be real. O'Conner wouldn't be able to see her otherwise, and based on the way that he's been looking between the two of them, he definitely can. And the polite-nurse-that-his-brain-turned-into-Alex-courtesy-of-his-exhaustion-and-how-much-he-misses-her theory definitely allows for the way she helped him sit up, but not the way that she knew what that look meant, what to say to him. It could be his brain, compiling what he knows about Alex and his memories to make his hallucination seem real, but it's probably not. O'Conner isn't looking at him funny. And no nurse would be sitting on the foot of his bed like that.

So that's it then. She's real. It's either that or Ryan is having the weirdest dream of his life.

Ryan glances over at Alex then. His jaw drops as he really takes her in: her hood is down, allowing her hair to tumble down over her shoulders and back in waves. She's wearing that jacket that she always seems to be wearing these days. There are circles under her eyes, and she looks absolutely exhausted (being on the run took a considerable toll on him - though that may have had something to do with being shot twice in such a short amount of time - so he really doesn't even want to imagine what it must've done to her). She's wearing makeup, but it's... worn, like it's been on for a few days and she hasn't washed her face. (Ryan takes a moment to thank his sister's drill team experience for that particular bit of knowledge: it's like when his sister Ellie would leave her makeup on after a performance and still be wearing it the next morning.) Alex's hands are resting in her lap, fingers twitching, like she wants to do something with them but isn't quite sure what or how.

It's in his head like a mantra.

She's real. She's real. She's real.

She's here. She's here. She's here.

He doesn't know where it comes from, but suddenly, Ryan is angry, and he's glaring at O'Conner in a way that actually makes the man take a step backward. Usually, there would be a reprimand, but the look on O'Conner's face says that he knows good and well that he deserves it. Alex whips her head around to look at him, mouth opening, probably to tell him to shut up before he says something he'll regret later. But he pushes ahead anyway. Before she can even get the words out, he's aiming a biting question at O'Conner. "So you finally got it together and realized that Alex would never do something so horrible?"

"Ryan, you really don't have to - " Her voice is quiet, assured. One of her hands rests on his arm. She twists around so that she can meet his eyes. "You - it's okay, Ryan. I was framed, and no, I'm not happy about it" - she throws O'Conner a scathing glance, but he's suddenly intently studying the wallpaper, like maybe it framed Alex and murdered over one hundred people, and put plenty more in the hospital - "but you don't need to worry about that right now. I'll be okay. We'll figure out who's responsible, they'll pay for what they've done, and they won't hurt anyone ever again. It'll be okay."

A few seconds pass, and Ryan is more than content to spend them searching her eyes, her face, for any hint of untruth in her words. But, and maybe against his better judgement, considering the stunt she pulled with the helicopter (and she's still going to get an earful about that particular incident), he believes her. He tries to tell himself that it has more to do with the fact that she's telling the truth than how badly he wants to believe her, and decides to ask, just to be sure.

"You promise?"

There's a smile that lights up her face, then. Her eyes are shining with tears all of the sudden, but he knows for a fact that mentioning them will just make her comfortable with O'Conner in the room, so he doesn't. He smiles back at her, and she cocks her head to the side, her smile somehow even wider. Even more dazzling.

In the most ridiculous attempt at a British accent that he's ever heard (at least, he thinks that's what she's going for), posh and a little broken up by the laugh that she's trying to hold back so she can get through her sentence, she says, "I, Alex Parrish, promise you, Ryan Booth, that we will figure this out, and it will all be okay."

On the other side of the room, the door clicks shut. At the same time, they look over to discover that O'Conner has silently snuck out of the room.

"Guess he couldn't take the sight of such happy people," Alex chuckles.

A lock of hair has fallen in her face from her laughter, and Ryan brushes it behind her ear. He doesn't have anything to say in response, just a laugh that only Alex could ever get out of him.

-/-

Twenty minutes pass, and a very young (very terrified) FBI agent walks in after knocking. Her arms are holding a box of pizza and a two-liter of Pepsi (and even some napkins, two plates, and two red solo cups), and Ryan takes a moment to thank O'Conner for whatever kindness inspired him to order them pizza. The man might have a questionable ethical system, and Ryan might have his issues with him, but the man knows how to find a good pizza place.

It doesn't take long to get right to it, though. Ryan is shoving his first piece of pizza into his mouth when Alex, clearly having decided to take her time with her food, asks, "So what are we?"

Ryan actually almost chokes on his pizza - it's such an un-her thing to do that he starts to wonder if he's dreaming again. Alex doesn't start these sorts of conversations. It's usually a miracle for him to find a way to get her to sit long enough to discuss. He stops mid-chew to exclaim, "What?"

He doesn't make any sense with the amount of pizza in his mouth, but Alex knows what he means anyway. "Are we a couple? Are we friends that are in love but are not a couple? Are we not - not in love?"

He can actually see the anxiety in her eyes, in the way her shoulders have tensed up. He takes another bite of pizza, buying himself a few seconds to try and get his thoughts in order - the last thing he wants to do is freak her out by throwing everything he's feeling at her at once.

"We are," he says, reaching for his glass of Pepsi, "whatever you want us to be."

And that's the truth: if she wants him the way that he wants her, if she loves him the way that he loves her, then Ryan will quite literally be the happiest man in the world. But if she doesn't (and the thought makes his stomach turn, because sure, he can live without her, but he isn't really sure that he wants to), he'll accept that, and it'll be okay.

Well. He'll find a way to be okay. If that's what she wants.

Because he wants her to be happy, even if it isn't necessarily with him.

He finishes his drink in three big gulps. The soda burns going down. Needing something to do that isn't stare at her, because she's starting to glance around like she's feeling cagey, and that's never a good sign with her (he doesn't want her to just up and leave, or throw herself out the door just because they can't figure things out between them, which means he needs to give her some space), he closes the lid of the pizza box and sits it on the side table. The cardboard lid won't do much to keep it warm, but they're both more than okay with cold pizza.

Working things out with Alex (the slightest possibility of a happy ending with Alex) is worth eating some cold pizza.

He moves both their plates away, just to give them some more room. What he really wants is to pull her into his arms. He's missed her so much this whole time he's been in the infirmary (he really doesn't know how long it's been - for all he knows, it might've really been a few weeks since he and Alex have seen each other), wanted her there every time he's woken up, wanted to see her, hear her voice, tell her how sorry he is for everything that she's been through. How sorry he is that so many people turned their backs on her.

That quite a few people ended up sticking up for her in the end, though, when it mattered - him, and Shelby, and Simon, and Miranda (who had always believed in Alex, even from the beginning), and even Vasquez.

She stares at him for a long moment, and then does a second very unexpected thing.

"I love you, Ryan, and if that's not what you want, then I understand. I got you shot, twice, and they - they hurt you because of me, and I'm so, so sorry. If you can't forgive me for those things, or for being bad at this in general, then - then I understand, but then please just tell me to stop talking, because I don't know how to do this at all."

Ryan blinks really hard once - twice - three times. He definitely has to be dreaming, because Alex does not - she doesn't do that. Doesn't just take the leap of faith and explain how she feels.

But, on the off-chance that he's not dreaming, and this is really happening...

"C'mere," he whispers. His voice is hoarse, all of the sudden, and he's really not sure what else to say.

She does, though, and he doesn't have to say anything else, because he's threading his fingers through her hair, and then lips are on lips and he's not really sure who kissed who, but it doesn't really matter.

When they finally pull apart, though, breathing heavy and lips swollen and some of her lipstick smeared, he knows exactly what to say. "I've always loved you, Alex."

fini

/

This is the last chapter of the fic. I hope you guys enjoyed it - let me know! I might have more work for this fandom coming soon!