The curly-headed guy, what was his name, looked up as I came back into the room. "Max, how is she?"
I looked at the two of them, both sitting on the edge of their seats, looking distraught. Good. She deserves people who care about her. But something still wasn't sitting right about what I'd seen, upstairs. "I didn't talk to her, but she's awake. I think she'll probably be going up to her room soon. Now, tell me, precisely, who was it who told him that he had no right to be here, because from what I just saw, someone besides him has him thinking he's lower than dirt about all of this, when it's abundantly clear to me that my daughter goes throwing herself into danger even when she's feeling heart-whole."
Her girlfriend-- Andrea? Angela?-- flinched. Ah. Well, that was easy. She shot a guilty look at the other one-- from the way she hunched, he'd probably already spoken to her about it. I'd just add my own perspective.
"Look, Angela, I know you love her, and I'm glad she has someone so passionate defending her. But I'll tell you something you may not understand. I am a man of action, much like that man up there. I survive, and protect the people I love, because I think quickly, and act quickly, and do what's necessary to see the needed result through. And I make mistakes, because I'm so used to having to do everything quickly. I fall out of the habit of being more deliberate, more long-term in my planning. If she can forgive me for doing the unforgivable, you should let her make the same decision with him, though I don't necessarily think what he did is any worse than any other horrible fight loved ones may have. It's their decision, how they handle this. Don't try to affect how she thinks about it, or prevent him from thinking through, clearly, what he needs to do in order to mend things. Don't interfere. Listen, sympathize, and give them their space. You need to let her decision be what guides your reactions-- not the other way. He hurt her-- you're just bystanders, as much as it hurts you in the blowback."
She nodded, tears leaking down her face. Ah, damnit, I hate making women cry, but if she was the reason he looked like a kicked puppy up there, well, maybe it would slow her down in the future.
"I'm going to go outside and call my Russell. Leave word with the nurse where her room is if you're already gone up before I get back?"
"Will do, Max," said the bug guy. John? Jake? Jack. Jack.
"Thanks, Jack."
I was going to have to learn their names better, now that I was actually going to be around enough to see them from someplace other than the other side of a courtroom.
- - -
"I'll come up as soon as I can. I need to go let Jack and Angela and your father know you're moving, and make a call or two. But I'll be back, and you can always call my phone. Okay?"
She nodded, wiping her tear-streaked face again with her good hand, like Parker. It was some measure of how upset she still was that she'd forgotten her usual, almost-prissy manners.
"Bones," I said, pulling the tissue box over to rest in her lap, "here, please? Don't use your hand, you'll get all crusty and then you'll forget and run your hand through your hair, or even worse, touch me with all your squint cooties."
She smiled, then, a watery one, but at least it was a real smile. "Well, I can't possibly let myself be responsible for infecting you with squint cooties. I'm pretty sure it's in my contract-- thou shalt not infect agents with squintiness." She pulled out a tissue and scrubbed her face, blew her nose, wincing at the nasal canula.
"Atta girl, Bones."
"You'll be back?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Your father's here, he'd beat the crap out of me if I tried to leave, anyway." She snorted, again wincing at the tube in her throat. "Poor Bones," I said, coming over to stand next to her and smooth her hair back from her face. "Be right back." I leant down to press a kiss on her forehead, disbelieving the way she leaned into me as I did so. I didn't deserve her, and she told me she loved me? Good God.
Don't let me fuck this up again, I thought, as I opened the curtain to the waiting orderly.
- - -
When I got downstairs, Max was sitting a few chairs away from Angela and Jack, and Angela was sobbing into Jack's shoulder. Oh, God. I had a hard time dealing with Hurricane Angela even when she liked me-- mercurial didn't begin to describe her. Max and Jack both looked up, eyes clear, no look of recrimination on either of their faces. "She's going up to twelve, room 2B, they said they wanted about a half hour to get her settled in before they will allow visitors up there. She's okay."
Angela looked up at me then, eyes and nose red, and choked back a sob.
"Give it a rest, Angela," came Max's voice. What?
"I've got to make a call or two, I'll be outside."
"Take your time, son." Son?
- - -
"Cullen."
"Booth."
"Booth, what the hell happened?"
"Nothing but bad timing, bad tailing, and thank God, bad aim on his part. She's got a single bullet wound and a plate in her shoulder but is otherwise alright. They're keeping her a few days before they let her go home, to make up the blood loss."
"I saw the photos. She drilled him right between the eyes."
"That's Bones. If she does something, she does it right, the first time."
"Will you be in tomorrow?"
"Well, considering that Max hasn't come outside to shiv me yet, let's leave it as I'll be available by phone." He chuckled on the other end of the line. It wouldn't do to say it out loud, but the guys at the Bureau liked Max-- it was nothing by justice for an honest crook to take down a corrupt cop, and everyone had either hated or feared Kirby.
"Good. I would have hated to transfer you to Austin."
"Thanks." I hung up, shook my shoulders out. I was still wearing the clothes I'd had on when I'd found her, and the nurses weren't going to be patient with me if I kept wandering around in blood-soaked clothing. Plus, it would probably make Angela stop crying so much, if the gory reminder wasn't right in front of her. I went back to the truck and pulled out the duffel of extra changes of clothes I usually kept there, slung it over my shoulder, and headed back in.
- - -
"Bren! Oh my God, Bren!"
Angela burst into the room, in full-blown emotive Angela mode, Jack following behind her. Oh, God. If he hadn't been able to calm her down, this was going to be rough. I'm no good at dealing with her when I'm feeling well. Physically and emotionally battered? Forget it. Well, I had lots of painkillers in my system, maybe I'd fall asleep in the middle of whatever tirade she was going to launch into.
"Ange, I'm alright." She sat there, looking at my strapped-down shoulder and arm, and burst into tears.
"Bren, you might have died!"
"Of course. But I didn't. And I could get run over by a truck on my way out of here." She shook her head.
"But... if he hadn't upset you..." Oh, lord. She didn't seriously think this particular angle of things was Booth's fault, did she? As messed up as I am, emotionally, even I can see the lack of relationship between the events.
"Ange, if he hadn't come by my apartment, I would have bled out. That dealer would have come after either of us. He just happened to come after me, and I happened to be there for him to come after."
"But! You were upset! And normally you wouldn't be home in the middle of the afternoon! And you were upset because... he..."
"Angela. If I wasn't home, he would have come to find me at the lab, or waited for me at my apartment. He's been getting his gang to overdose runaway teen prostitutes who want to escape him for almost a year. He had no interest in getting caught. It had nothing to do with Booth." There. I'd said his name aloud, and she flinched like I'd slapped her. Alright, I had no patience for this. Time for a subject change.
"Jack, is my father around here someplace?"
He nodded. "Yes, he's out in the hall, waiting. He talked to Russ, but Hallie's sick and they can't come up right away." Well, that's alright. I'd be fine enough to go home in a few days, though field work was going to be out of the question while my shoulder healed. Probably a good thing-- it would give me time to deal with the way things had twisted, twice, in the last two days, in my dealings with Booth. I was pretty sure he was delusional about my emotional faculties, but he's better at this heart thing than I am, and even I can tell when he's not just talking from guilt. There was guilt, there, sure, but that wasn't what drove what he'd said to me, earlier, when we were in the recovery area.
"Bren?"
"Oh, sorry, Angela, I zoned out for a minute there." She blinked. What? Oh, I must have used the phrase correctly. It happens, sometimes.
"Where are you going to stay when you go home for the hospital?"
"I don't know, actually. I assume the crime lab will have my house cleared by the time I'm ready to leave, but I'll have to have the carpet replaced, and I'm not particularly eager to walk across my own bloodstains in the meantime."
Jack snorted, lightly. Good. At least someone'd maintained a faint sense of humor in all this.
"You could come stay with us?" Oh, Ange. Not if you're leaking tears like that every time that you look at me. I need peace and quiet.
"I'll think about it."
"Well, where else would you stay?"
"With Booth." Well, that came out unexpectedly, but I supposed it was true. He'd stop poking at me to talk, now that we'd preliminarily cleared the air, and he knew how to respect someone else's quiet-- something Angela, as much as I loved her, couldn't do.
She huffed when I said I might stay with him. "Even after what he said to you?"
"Ange, I am not having this discussion with you less than two hours after surgery. If you want to talk about it tomorrow, come back after lunchtime."
"But he called you cold!"
I leveled a stare at her. "Angela, if you don't recall correctly, you yourself have called me socially retarded on a number of occasions." She flinched. She'd hurt my feelings when she'd done so, but it hadn't hurt as much as what Booth had said. Why was that? She just didn't understand me as much as he did, I suppose. Poor Angela. If she had her way, I'd cut off Booth without a further word-- she tended to do that with people who angered her, moving on with ease to make new friends, at least until they angered her, when she'd move on again. I didn't make friends easily, like she did, though. I needed the ones that I had.
Jack patted her hand. "Angie, let's go home. Dr. B. will be here tomorrow, and you can talk to her then." I nodded, and offered her a tentative smile. She came forward then, eyes still streaming tears, and pulled me into a firm hug. A small groan escaped me as she squeezed me too hard, and she jumped back, alarmed, the movement of her letting go jerking me further. Shit, that hurt. My eyes were watering with the pain, which just caused her to wail and try to hug me again. I involuntarily backed into the bed, away from her, and Jack took her by the arm and led her away, mouthing "sorry," over his shoulder as he went.
- - -
My father entered the room as soon as they were gone, and sat at the edge of the bed, taking in my shoulder and all the IV lines. They still had me hooked up to more blood, and I wondered how much, precisely, I'd lost.
"Hi, Pumpkin."
"Hi, Dad."
"Your friend there's pretty upset."
"I know." I sighed, and shook my head, and he took my hand. "She's always been highly emotional, and things like this just make it worse. I just hope she calms down a bit before tomorrow."
He nodded, seriously. "Well, your friends are worried about you. You have lots of people who love you, you know."
"I know. I don't know why they do, but I know."
He paused, looking at me seriously. "You know, you're exhausted and your boy will be back up soon to keep you company, but I want to say something to you, and I want you to think about it. You are a wonderful girl, and you always have been. It broke both our hearts to leave you, but we did what we thought was best. We were wrong. We should have taken you with us, started over as many times as it took. We never should have left you-- we'd made it work before, we should have tried it again. Honey, it kills me to know that some part of you still thinks that you did something wrong, and that's why your mother and I left, rather than taking you with us. It just isn't the truth, and you've got to do what you can to try to believe me when I tell you that. Can you promise me you'll try?"
My throat closed over, so I just nodded as a tear slid down my cheek. "Oh, sweetie," he sighed, pulling my head to his chest, "honey, it's going to be alright."
"I hope so, Dad. I hope so." We sat for another few moments, and then he kissed the top of my head and let me go, standing up as he did. "I'm dead on my feet, I'm going to go get some sleep and I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"
I nodded. I wished he wouldn't go until Booth came back, but he always came and went as he pleased, and I wasn't going to argue with him. "Thanks, Daddy. See you tomorrow."
He blew me a kiss from the doorway and was gone-- like he always left, here one minute, gone the next.
- - -
I'd just come off the elevator with my things when Max rounded the corner.
"Boy," he said. Well, at least he hadn't broken my neck. Boy, I could put up with.
"Hi, Max."
"That waterfall of a friend of hers is gone. She was at her about you in there but I'll have you know my little girl stuck up for you."
I shook my head. I have no idea why, but thank God she did, at least maybe she'd listened, a little, to what I'd tried to make her believe. "Where are you off to, now?"
"Got to find a motel or something, I'm dead on my feet." He usually stayed at her place when he was in town, and I honestly had no idea what he did with his time, what he did for money. I know Bones probably tries to help him, but Max is a proud guy and probably refuses to take money from her. I reached into my pockets for my keys, and fiddled with them until I managed to get my key off.
"Here-- there're sheets and towels in the bathroom, the first room in the hall is Parker's. There should be food in the fridge. The security code is Jasper."
He took the key from me, saying nothing, just nodded, and clapped me on the arm before slipping it into his pocket. He didn't even ask me where my house was, and I didn't tell him, since I was sure he knew the way there as well as he knew his way to his daughter's. Or at least, I would, if I were him.
"See you tomorrow, boy," he said, nodding again, and heading off.
- - -
Her eyes were closed when I came into the room, and she looked to be wearing down again, like the pain drugs were wearing off. I dropped my bag on the floor and shut the door behind me as I went over to see if she was still awake.
"Temperance?" Her eyes fluttered open, cloudy with tiredness and pain.
"Hi."
"I just saw your dad, I gave him the key to my place so he could get some sleep." I sat down, gingerly, on the bed beside her, took her hand in mine. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired, nauseous, like I could drink a small lake of water, and debating which hurts more, the fracture, the plate, the puncture, or the incision."
"Well, in the morning you can draw up a list of all of the various sensations, and you can write a paper on it when you get home." She half-smiled, but I could see her brain working over whether there was some anthropological angle there.
"What's in the bag?"
"A change of clothes. I figured they wouldn't want me sitting around in their sterile environment in crusted clothes." She nodded and jerked her head at the bathroom.
"Feel free." I squeezed her hand, not sure if it would be pushing it to much to kiss her again, so I didn't. When I'd changed and come back out, her eyes were closed again, her breathing half-deepened, as if she were on her way to sleep. She turned at the noise, then, and exhaled heavily when she leant too much on her shoulder.
"Hey, you, no squirming."
"I can't get comfortable," she complained. No wonder-- the few times I'd seen her sleep on her couch, she usually slept on the side that was now hurt.
"Want some more pillows?" She shook her head.
"I don't think so." She paused, looked at me hesitantly. "Will you... come sit with me?"
I lowered the side bar on the bed and stretched out next to her, turning so her good side was pulled up against me, lightly. She sighed, and relaxed a little into me, then shifted a bit until she'd slid down in the bed, her head resting against my chest.
"Thanks, Booth," she mumbled, then closed her eyes again.
"Anytime, Bones, anytime."
- - -
When I stopped in my rounds later that night to check on her, that agent was lying in the bed next to her, positioned so she could lie on top of him and relieve some of the pressure on her shoulder. He had one arm drawn across her side, the other hand cradling her head to his chest. His eyes snapped open when I stepped into the room, his body tensed to do ... something ... until he saw it was just me.
"I'm just going to check the monitors," I whispered, and he nodded, not moving from where he held her, watching me like a hawk the whole time I made notes on her chart and re-checked the IVs.
"Goodnight," I whispered, and he nodded as I left. I doubted he'd get any sleep at all if he was going to wake up like that every time someone came near her, but perhaps that was what he and she both needed. It's funny-- I've been a nurse for ten years now, and it's always the ones who don't sleep worth a damn while their loved ones were here who looked best when the patients went home-- the patients, too, as if they were aware, somehow, of the watchfulness over them as they lay sleeping.